The Wolf Trail
by Raven Wolff
Summary: A wolf (Santana) and a girl (Quinn) must help each other and bring their worlds together to help each other survive. More of the summary on the first installment. Drop your reviews, please.
1. Summary

_The Wolf Trail_

Quinn Fabray had always thought of herself as a fairy child, believing that there's no reason for her to deserve kindness. But when she finds a parchment hidden inside a chest, she began to question her real origins – only to find out that she had a dark, muddled past.

Santana is a lone wolf, who had left her pack, driven out of sorrow after the death of her mate, Brittany. She constantly lived in the past, and she must go out into the wild again and find the answers to her questions, and to find the one that would lead her to the truth.

They found each other, and needed each other. But there is also one thing similar to them – they both possessed the gift of the Sight. Together, they travel to find the truth about life and find the truth about themselves.

_To Hazel:_

_Just you and me beneath the Wolf Trail._


	2. The Fairy Child: Part 1

The wind howled grimly as it swept across the great chasms of the night, straight into the foothills, and to the village beyond. People call the town Augsburg, and from the top of a small foothill, stood the outermost cabin of the town.

The cabin belonged to Hugh and Sarah Wilde. With them lived their young eleven-year-old niece named Katherine and a fifteen-year old adopted daughter, if one would have called it, whom they named as Quinn.

Hugh was a shepherd as well as a farmer, and Quinn, dressed as a boy all the time, had helped Hugh in the fields. Quinn could cut with a scythe across the wheat fields for a whole day and never take a rest, or sometimes, Quinn could carry buckets of water from the icy stream and up the hill for hours. Quinn can butcher a sheep without the aid of anyone. Everything, every hard task that she was ought to do, Hugh had taught her. After all, Quinn was made to work for the couple twice as hard as any boy her age around the village.

Maybe it was because of the fact that Hugh had wanted a son for himself, or maybe because of her origins. When she came to the village eight years ago, her origins were not known. Some villagers had whispered among themselves about the boy who emerged from the snow, for Hugh had seen her after a snowstorm.

Still, some others had called her as a changeling, a fairy child. Left by the fairies to the human, to be human and to stay that way, Quinn often wondered who her parents were. Maybe she was a goblin, maybe she was a fairy child. The stories of being a fairy child had stuck with Quinn for all her life she had been living in the village of Augsburg.

"Quinn," the younger blonde girl stood next to her. "Uncle is coming. Better get some wood from the barn for me?"

At the mention, Quinn stood up and walked past the smaller blonde, and out into the back of the house to gather firewood for the fireplace. The crisp autumn wind felt cold on her face, and she could smell the snow. Maybe it would snow tonight, or tomorrow.

She sat the firewood next to the dug-out fire pit in the middle of the room and added some of it to the fire in the hearth. Katherine was already making hot stew for their uncle in the kitchen, and his wife had just came into the door, bringing with her a gust of wind.

Quinn just grunted as she felt the chattering of her teeth due to the cold. Sarah had left Katherine in the kitchen as she herself went into the upstairs room to change. Quinn rejoined with the younger blonde, who was tending after her uncle's broth. After a while, the two youths had heard Hugh's heavy footfalls against the earth and his gruff voice.

Katherine left Quinn to tend to the broth Katherine had cooked for her uncle. Quinn knew though, that she would not have her share of the stew until tomorrow, when it is cold and tasteless and barely nourishing.

Katherine had gone back to the kitchen again, and she retrieved a wooden bowl from the cupboard to fill it with stew. However, she also took another bowl, smaller and dustier and completely older this time, and filled it with the remainder of the stew.

"Yours," she held out the bowl to Quinn. "Hide it in the back. There's a pit there, and cover it with the gauze lying on top of the firewood. You can take it with you when you sleep tonight and eat it in the barn."

"Thank you," Quinn answered. In her eight years in living with the family, only Katherine had shown her real kindness. Hugh and Sarah were not as kind as they should be.

"I shall take my uncle's broth to him," Katherine said, but then turned to Quinn. "And Quinn, he wants to see you."

Quinn obediently followed Katherine back up the the outer room, into the hearth and saw her uncle sitting idly in front of the fire. He had a large belly, hairy arms and a filthy, disgusted look on his face.

"Where's that damned food, Kitty?" Hugh bellowed, and Katherine rushed to his side. She carefully put the steaming bowl of broth on a small, low table that was sitting next to Hugh. Hugh, in turn, looked at Quinn.

"Take off my boots, ya filthy scum," he sneered at Quinn as the young girl bent down to unlace his boots. She pulled it once, but it did not come off. She had to pull it three times before Hugh's fat foot was out of the boot.

"The other one," he commanded as he thrust his boot-clad left foot. He enjoyed enslaving the young changeling. Quinn pulled.

"Pull it harder, aye," he growled as he saw that Quinn had flailed yet again. "Be careful there, damn it," Hugh growled as Quinn accidentally hit and twisted an ugly blister on his second foot.

"I'm sorry, Hugh," Quinn said apologetically.

"You should be," Hugh growled. "I wonder what a good-for-nothing child like you has that you're still alive in this world. You should be dead by now."

Tears furiously pricked at Quinn's eyes, but she willed herself not to cry. Not in front of Hugh, or Katherine. She won't allow it. She won't let anyone see how weak she is. Especially not Hugh.

"Ah, but you being alive is a solace, though. Without you, I would have none of this service," Hugh let out a small, evil chuckle through his gritted yellow teeth. Just then, Sarah opened the door and the wind tore through the house.

"Wife!" Hugh cried. "Kitty has had to warm the soup from the fire and you go about, making it cold!"

"The child has to learn about hard work, you stupid ball of meat!" Sarah hissed loudly. She had carried a pitcher out into the night and was back with it, full of water. "I just took some water for the brew. For Quinn," she finalized as she stared at the young girl who was still crouched in front of Hugh.

Sarah then went to the kitchen, and yelling for Katherine's help, she prepared a brew of strange herbs for Quinn.

"Quinn," she said, in an almost revering tone. "It's time for you to go to bed."

"Yes, Sarah," Quinn nodded softly and followed up to the door. Sarah handed the bowl for her and coaxed Quinn to drink it.

"You know it's for your own good, Quinn," Sarah said as Quinn held up the bowl, brimming of liquid which was to be called as hallucinogens in the later years. "So that the goblins can't come and take you again."

A witch in the mountains above the village had been consulted when Quinn was found in the snow eight years ago. Quinn was seven by then, and when she was found, she was unconscious. When Quinn had woken up, she wasn't able to recall anything and she can't utter any word. The witch's service had been asked for, and she had given Hugh and Sarah the recipe for the brew to protect the changeling from the goblins. To keep her memories shut off from her present – trauma caused by a strike on the head, if it was called in the later years.

Quinn brought the bowl to her lips, and with determination, she drank the bitter brew. She could feel the warmth of the drink settle inside the pit of her stomach, and slowly, Quinn felt light-headed and the things in her view started to blur. She let the bowl fall to the ground with a soft _plonk_ and it rolled to Hugh's foot.

"Useless little scoundrel," Sarah shuddered as Quinn did not take any heed, but went out of the house, round it to retrieve the broth Katherine had left for her and to the barn, where she sleeps on a bale of hay. Quinn pulled the thinning coat of wool across her small frame.

The barn smelled of filth and of cow dung, but it was warmer than the outside, she was indeed thankful for it. She let herself huddle on the hay bale, as she took a small bite from the week-old bread that Hugh had given her the day before – or more like thrown to her.

People like Quinn knew too much of hunger to let any edible food go to waste. She fumbled for another satchel and pulled out something, wrapped up in cloth. It as a large chunk of cheese. Plain and pallid as it was, Quinn knew she had to do with it.

The cheese was dry, it felt like eating hay itself. But Quinn went on, and she had gleefully sipped the still-warm broth, thanking silently for Katherine's kindness. Quinn felt light-headed, but she was alright. She could manage. When her meager meal was over, Quinn crawled on the hay bale, positioned herself lengthwise of the hay bale, and tried to fall asleep.


	3. The Lone Black Wolf

Amidst the fallen leaves of the great elms and the autumn air, a lone wolf trudged its path against the jagged rocks. It's coat was dark gray, almost into a black coat. The black wolf climbed up and up, until it had reached a crest of a hill, and it looked down below.

A pack of several other wolves went through the undergrowth almost invisibly. Their dark coats were shielded by the dark, and they move stealthily across the shadows. Down the chasms below, the wolf could hear the rush of a small stream.

The alpha male of the pack looked up, and saw the lone black wolf on top of the hill, its silhouette just like a dark shadow against the pale, dark blue of the autumn sky. The alpha male snarled, for the lone black wolf was a threat to his pack.

"Is it the Vengerid, Father?" the youngest wolf cub looked up to the alpha male. The others of the pack instantly huddled together, intent of protecting the pack. The alpha male looked up to see that the lone black wolf was still on the top of the hill, hunched and still watching them. For highly sociable animals like the wolf, the threat posed by a lone wolf, a Kerl, was so great that they will avoid any Kerl that might come their way.

"It's not the Vengerid," the alpha male said. "They've been gone. I've led you all to safety. It's a Kerl. Let's stay together."

Stepping forward, the alpha female sniffed the air. Her muzzle jutted out forwards in recognition. The wind howled from the hilltops. "It's Santana."

"Is it?" the alpha male asked as it turned to its mate. He knew that asking the alpha female about her facts was a stupid question. Wolves rule the kingdom of senses and females have trusted their instincts completely.

"It is her," the female alpha said.

"I thought the legend happened years ago?" the alpha male said. "If the legend was true, then Santana should be old by now. Perhaps dead."

"Then, maybe she really is a ghost, lurking in the shadows," the alpha female growled, but the alpha male had hushed her.

"Hush, there is no such things as those in these parts," he grunted, but then, there was a howl that pierced the crisp autumn air. A sad howl of a wolf – the lone wolf.

It was Santana's song.

The gray wolves shuddered. They were not of the place. They had been running from the Vengerids, a band of renegade wolves that kill and hunt other wolves for sport. Their leader was the murderous Wulfbane, and he was feared throughout the lands, but Santana's name was like a curse to all of the wolves in the cold mountains. It was worse than any other Vengerid.

Some say that Santana was a ghost wolf, who returned from the Red Meadows, a place where the wolves and all of the Putnar, the predators of the land and forests, stay after their deaths, until they can continue on their journey to the Beyond.

Santana's name was associated with extraordinary powers too: from the ability to make herself invisible, to the ability to turn herself into a steppe eagle and to turn herself into a human form.

But from all the terrible tales told about Santana, what troubled them most was the tale that Santana had the powers of the Sight.

The Sight was the ancient gift the Putnar, predators of the earth, had always believed in. It is a gift only a few were born with. It was a power that comes through the forehead to talk to animals, to see into water and see visions of the past, present and future. It is the power to glimpse into the minds of animals, to control wills and actions and to even look into the mind of man himself – a mind so closed off compared to any of the Putnars.

The black wolf's eyes flickered. And she searched the hills beyond her, taking her eyes away from the pack below her. She looked out once more to the lonely world.

She had made a kill earlier that day, and the taste of blood was still in her mouth. It was a weak roebuck that had been entangled in a mass of branches. Her belly was full, and she knew she should find shelter for tonight – in a low cave that would protect her from the harsh frosty winds that blew from the greater north.

She looked up, and saw a small cave. It was just a small scar on the large face of a cliff, and her pace quickened. For the wolf now knew that she was safe for the night. She had scouted the cave the day before, marking it with her scent. So far, there were no threats in the cave, so she knew there's no threat of being disturbed by another Putnar.

She's not hungry, she had a warm place for the night, Santana should be at her element by now. But the dark brown eyes with flecks of gold were troubled. It wasn't the threat of having another Putnar in the cave that troubled her, it was the sight of the wolf pack she had spied earlier. All through the day, Santana had been thinking of her own pack, and for the first time she saw them, she thought it was her very own pack.

Her parents, Alonzo and Maribel would be of old age now. Her thoughts ran to Noah, her adopted brother. He should be six years old by now, fully grown and perhaps mating. Then, her thoughts went back to her younger brothers and sisters – Jake, Ryder, Mike and sweet, sweet Marley. The four wolf cubs should be five years old by now, and Santana wondered if they had their own cubs by now. Or their own mates.

Her dark eyes darkened a bit more, as the thought of having a mate flashed through her mind. She once had a mate – dear, gentle Brittany. And for a moment, the dark eyes swirled with dark pain, and Santana yelped as a pang of hurt tore through her.

She asked, at the great expanse beyond her, where her family might be. Alonzo and Maribel should be fifteen or fourteen by now, and they would be very old. She felt that it would be good to visit them, for a while, and for a moment have another glimpse of a happy family.

It had been her choice that she'd leave her pack. After what happened and after she felt that she had betrayed them. Santana felt that she needed to hunt the truth of life for herself. But it was her dark journey, and all the darkness she had seen and suffered that had driven her away from her family.

Brittany, her mate was her closest, and real family. Seven years ago, she and Brittany were both born at Fall, in two different caves. However, Brittany was a lone wolf, and her mother died on giving birth. When Alonzo found her at the cave – she had been called an omega cub, the weakest of the pack. But, still, the pack welcomed her and Santana and Brittany grew up to be the closest friends, sisters – lovers, mates.

It must have been the fact that both of the wolves were born in the Samhain, or anything, but both Santana and Brittany were gifted with the Sight. Such great powers attracted the attention of Santana's wicked aunt Belladonna. The pack had protected the two cubs. And Santana had especially protected her mate. And they wrestled with the legend, even if at the end it almost cost Santana's life – and cost Brittany's own.

The white wolf Brittany had went up the rocky cliff Morgor, Belladonna's dark lair, with Santana by her side to confront Belladonna and free a young child that had been snatched away from a village below a stone castle. There, Brittany used the Sight to save the child. Brittany had commanded her mate to carry the child back to the village, and fulfill a legend that was to be in the history forever.

For the ordinary wolves, the story is now largely a myth, a legend that was shared between pack dens and told in dreary hunting days to cheer the pack up. But the legend persisted on, for the defeat of Belladonna and her minions had allowed the wolves to hunt again.

Whenever the wolves of the mountains cross each other's boundaries, or see another wolf, they give each other Brittany's Blessing, in honor of the white wolf that saved them. But while Brittany's name was associated with honor and goodness, Santana's name was associated with danger, uncertainty and even evil.

The black wolf looked up and saw the cave. The bank sloped up, until it reached the mouth of the cave. She quickly marched right up, but she stopped in her tracks when she heard someone chattering behind her.

Two squirrels gleamed in the moonlight as they sat on a branch of the tree, their red bushy tails twitching. One was munching on an acorn, his puffy cheeks were full. The other, presumably his mate, was the one talking.

"Did you feel it?" she chattered. Her mate was looking up at her. "Do you feel it? It felt like there's a big change coming."

Santana paused. The Sight allowed talking to the animals – mostly birds, for the Sight began in them, but she had never tried talking to other animals. With her understanding and her patience, only Brittany was able to reach out to the animals like that. Santana had never understood these animals before. Was she haunted?

"What are you talking about?" the other squirrel said, he was clawing the acorn between his nervous paws.

"I just feel it, in the air and in the undergrowth. The elements has it in itself. Some big change comes," the she-squirrel said.

Santana looked towards her back as a rumble of thunder tore throughout the sky. A large rain cloud was looming just above the horizon and she gave out a low growl. The two squirrels heard her call, and they ran up higher the tree. Santana shook her head, and went into the cave, thinking that she had just imagined all of it.


	4. The Vision

Santana padded into the cave, and stopped to gnaw at a pile of hare bones that were on the entrance of the cave. It was her kill the past day. Deeper into the cave, she could hear the splash and gurgle of a small underwater stream. The spring fed a small pool. And from the pool, Santana could hear a voice whispering: "Fear it, wolf. Fear death by water."

The black wolf shuddered. She feared death by water, for she had almost faced her death by water's hands. But the stream was small, and Santana knew she can't die in there. But another fear crept through her. The fear for the second power of the Sight – the power to show visions in water.

Instantly, Santana stepped forwards, and put her dark muzzle into the water. Her thirst abated as she drank the delicious water. When she was done, she found herself looking into her reflection in the water. She often wondered if it was the power of the Sight that put her in her prime, but she quickly shook the thoughts off. Thoughts of the Sight just brings back the dark memories.

Try as she might push the past away, Santana can't. The past seemed to be haunting her today. She growled at the idea of how her aunt Belladonna had fooled her so quickly. Belladonna had known long before she did that it was not only Brittany who possessed the Sight. But how, a wolf like her with such an extraordinary gift live amongst the normal mountain wolves? For a wolf like her, who had seen so much fury and hate, how could she live like she was just another wolf hunting in the wild?

How can a wolf like her, touched by the powers so immense that she can't control it? How can she, who had lost her mate, because she had failed to protect her, deserve to live with a pack? Santana shuddered as she remembered how she had managed to blind Belladonna's wolf pack using the Sight.

She had no idea how Belladonna had got to her. She had no idea how Belladonna could have used her for her dark plans, how stupid was she to fall for Belladonna's lies? For so long, Belladonna had made her believe that she was evil. Her aunt taught her how to kill in precise fashion, and taught her that she was meant to be evil. It was that way, until Brittany came to her rescue.

It's been a long time ago, and dear Brittany was dead. She had gone beyond the Red Meadow, and into the Beyond, to walk with the wolf gods Tor and Fenris along the Wolf Trail. Belladonna and her minions were dead, and the wolves of the mountains are free to roam and hunt again.

A gust of wind tore through the cave, and with it, a voice seemed to whisper among it. The wind carried the voice out to the wolf's ears. Her ears twitched and stood up, alert and trusting. The wind seemed to whisper to her.

"Help the human. Help the child."

Santana turned around to look where the sound had started, but she couldn't find one. She chanced to look into the pool, and snarled. In the water, an image of a young boy was seen – he had hazel eyes, creamy skin, and cropped, short wheat-blonde hair. The boy rolled up his sleeves, and on his arm, was a mark of an eagle with its wings outstretched.

Humans, the grave thought fell on Santana's mind. For five long years, she had watched the humans close – disobeying the oldest wolf law. To never have to do anything with them. She had used the Sight on them, peering into their minds as they sit around fires and hunt.

Too many times, the humans tried to drive Santana out with spears and flaming torches, but Santana always came back, for some reasons beyond her control. She knew it was her hunger for the truth about the Sight that made her keep coming back.

"Help the child," the voice said. This time, it was clearer and much more familiar to him.

"Brittany?" Santana howled. "Brittany!" she gasped.

"The child is close..." the voice seemed like a distant faded echo. Santana peered into the pool of water. "Help the child."

The face of the child was already sinking, but it's not fading away. Santana struggled to see it, only to find a pair of blue eyes speckled with amber and a white muzzle. Above the image of the boy was a she-wolf Santana knew so much.

"Brittany!" Santana gasped. The white wolf said nothing, but smiled at Santana with a small smile.

It had been five years since she had seen Brittany. It was Brittany who saved her from her wicked aunt, it was the white wolf who made her believe that there's still good in her. Dear Brittany had shown her that Belladonna was the real darkness, and the feelings, the helplessness and the darkness Santana had felt and struggled with was for a growing wolf. Brittany had shown Santana that as much as life can be filled with sorrow, anger and hate, it can also be filled with joy, love and sacrifice. Her very own sacrifice.

"Oh, Brittany, how I missed you," Santana whimpered like a lost cub.

Still, the beautiful white wolf said nothing and Santana lifted a paw. She stroked the water delicately, scared that her paw might destroy the face of her mate in the water. The wind licked furiously across the cave, and the voice was back again.

"Help the fairy child, Santana."

Santana was convinced that she was being haunted now. She shook her muzzle. The wind rose and Santana could feel the hairs on the back of her neck sticking out. She had sensed so often that Brittany had gone beyond the Red Meadows, but how could this be?

"Destiny," the voice whispered. "The child had great destiny. It is marked, Santana."

Santana's tail lifted. The child had a mark on its forearm – a steppe eagle, a Helper. She had remembered the words of the blind steppe eagle named Iza before. _As important as any, Santana. Everything has its destiny._ Her destiny had been foretold long ago.

"Aid it, Santana. For nature, for all of us," Brittany's voice echoed.

Santana held her head into the water, much nearer now. "But, Brittany, stay. I need to know more!"

"Great evil comes, Santana. Hurry. Great evil."

Brittany's image was almost faded now. "But, Brittany! How do I seek the child? Where is this child?"

"Gone. Can't see now," Brittany's voice said weakly. "Seek out help Santana. Seek the Guardian. Seek for friends. Seek the helpers. Seek the birds."

"Please, Brittany," Santana growled, feeling helplessness crawl in her heart. She was wondering who the Guardian is, and who the child is.

"Help the child. Nature's survival and the child's are one. Hurry, my love," Brittany's image was completely gone in the water, and the wind was only humming now. Again, Santana was left alone.

Santana stood in front of the pool, shuddering, as a breath of ice came on the autumn breeze. Outside the cave, small smudges of white from the heavens were falling lightly on the ground. It had started to snow.

For moments, Santana stood, amazed and terrified. She wondered if she was dreaming. Had it been Brittany's ghost speaking to her? Who were these Helpers? Who was the Guardian? What could this night mean to her and to the child she had just seen?

She thought of Iza again. Iza had been one of the Helpers, the birds of flight whose sights escape their bodies and see the vast expanse of the earth. It was the first power of the Sight. She shivered unhappily at the thought. She had seen too much of the world.

She could still see the boy, his face in the pool. Is it the future? For now, it felt like it was the present. Could it be the same boy she and Brittany had saved five years before? She did not know how old the boy was, for she had no idea about a human's life span.

As she stood on the pool and looked at the boy, it snowed outside. As the snow fell heavier and heavier, Santana felt like she was looking at doorway of a different world entirely. The boy had its eyes closed, and Santana knew. There was a sweating that gripped his face as he had a dream.


	5. The Fairy Child: Part 2

"Wake up, Quinn," Katherine said as she shook the dreaming child. The young dreamer woke up with a start, and a pair of hazel eyes sleepily looked at Katherine. It was the same face that Santana had spied on the pool.

"You were dreaming," Katherine said softly. The small girl dressed plainly, a peasant's outfit, her blonde hair, almost the same color as the dreamer's hair tied into a ponytail. She gave a kind smile to Quinn.

The dreamer smiled back to Katherine. She had oftentimes called Katherine as Kitty, since the smaller girl would act as if it was a cat when it had the chance to sneak on Quinn. She nodded at Kitty thankfully for waking her up.

"Yeah, I was having a bad dream again," Quinn sighed as she rested her head on the wall of the barn. The dream had been full of shouts and arguing adult voices. Thank heavens it was over now.

"Shall I cut your hair now, Quinn?" Kitty asked, holding up a pair of shears.

The dreamer just shook her head sleepily, although she knew she had to cut it sooner than later, for it was starting to grow out again. She tied her hair up with a small torn cloth, and as she did so, the right shirtsleeve of her tunic rode up, revealing the mark of a steppe eagle on her forearm.

Kitty quietly watched as Quinn did her hair. But her eyes were fixed on the mark that Quinn had on her arm. The smaller, much younger blonde girl had been keener in observing it, after seeing a parchment under her uncle's bed earlier during the day.

"Uncle said you should fetch four buckets of water today," Kitty said silently from where she sat on Quinn's makeshift bed. She nervously fidgeted with the pleats of her peasant dress and looked up to Quinn. "It's snowed last night."

Quinn gave out an easy smile. "It's fine, kitty-cat. I'm warm enough," Quinn said, emphasizing her gesture as she slung the tattered woolen coat that she had owned. It came from her very own sheep, and Hugh was none too pleased for it.

"Be careful at the hillside, Quinn, the road is slippery," Katherine said a matter-of-factly. It had snowed the night before, no doubt the hillside was frozen and very slippery to tread on. Not to mention the fact that Quinn had to shatter the frozen water on the top of the spring pool so she could get the water trapped beneath it.

For a girl of fifteen, Quinn could pass up for a young boy, perhaps younger her age. For it was all of Quinn Fabray, from her cropped hair down to her tattered shepherd clothes – it was all done to conceal that she was a girl and not a boy.

In the household, Quinn was treated as roughly as any boy, and made to work twice as hard. Quinn rarely got enough rest from all the chores she's got in the house, and if ever Hugh or Sarah could catch her sleeping or napping, surely then she would get a good beating out of it.

But today, Quinn felt rather more nervous than ever. It's the feeling she'd get each time, when she believes that something special might happen.

The pretense surrounding Quinn was eight years ago, when Katherine's uncle, Hugh, found her on the snow, unconscious and cold. Hugh had brought her up to the mountain where an old hag lived. Quinn had been bewildered at the time and she was just barely conscious to spell out her name. She had received a blow on her head, but the old crone had clasped Hugh's hands tightly and with a shuddered look on her face, she claimed the child to be a changeling.

"She's a fairy, Hugh," she said to Hugh with a fearful, grim smile. "A fairy child, born of the snows."

Hugh gave her a bewildered look. "She might be born a human, or she might have been left her by the same of her kind," she continued. She hobbled to her merchandise of herbs. It was too many to even count, but she pulled out a few roots and handed it to Hugh.

"Go, and hide the child. Use the brew to hide her from the goblins who might snatch her back. Hide the child," and she thrust the herbs on Hugh's face.

The witch had also talked to Quinn too, convincing her that she had been born in the winter wilds and emerged from the snow, and then walked among with men. She was taught by the witch to accept the life that she had with gratitude and with acceptance, and never to look back, for it would bring misfortune to them all.

For a half a year, Quinn was not able to talk, and all through those time, Hugh and his wife, Sarah had talked her into believing that she was a fairy child. The man who adopted Quinn had told her to cut her hair, keep it from cutting and conceal herself as a boy – so that the goblins can't snatch her back. Young Quinn Fabray had succumbed to all of it.

Ever since then, her life became nights of dreams. For many years, Quinn had always believed that she was a daughter of the goblins. She often dreamed of sky-high palaces. She often dreamed of a castle that reached the heavens. She also dreamed of elves who had antlers instead of hands and they were using it like it was a sword. Sometimes, she had dreams of chaos and shouting, and of a woman looking rather angrily at her.

On happier dreams though, Quinn could remember of strong arms holding her close, and she felt that those were the arms of her father, while sometimes, she could remember a soft fairy lullaby that found their way in the hall she was in.

Katherine's nimble hands put down the shears. "Quinn," she called. "Will you tell me another story?"

"A story?"

"Yes," Katherine nodded. "Tell me about the children in the forest, or the girl who lived with the horse?" she said with pleading eyes.

Quinn was known all over the village for her stories. Many believed that it was a fairy gift, her ability in spinning the yarns of a story. It also kept Quinn from being bullied by all the boys her age. Most of them were jealous with her ability, but never said such a thing right in front of Quinn.

When Hugh shouted for her, Quinn sprang up from where she sat and immediately went about her chores. She knew she wouldn't be done with all of them, not until sundown and Hugh would be very angry if she don't finish all of it today. So she set herself to work.

"Please, can I have some food?" Quinn implored silently at Hugh's wife that night. "At least?"

With a grunt, Sarah bent over the cupboard to retrieve a crusty, cold bread and broke it in half. She handed the bread to Quinn, and without a word, she glared at the young woman. Quinn left the room without any argument.

Outside, the snow was falling heavily. Silently, Quinn pulled her tunic closer to her, hoping that in some way she could find it in herself to get warm. She made her way into the barn. The hinges creaked, and Quinn chanced to see a small break in the snowy sky and saw the moon. Too many times, in her confusion and despair, Quinn found her solace in the moon and in the stars. For sometimes, they speak to her as if they were telling her to keep holding on.

Quinn saw Katherine chop down the wood outside the house, stopping after a few swings of her ax had chopped the wood and carry them inside the house. She gave Kitty a small smile and proceeded to go inside the barn. The wooden walls had kept the air out, rattling it about, but it failed to keep the cold from seeping inside the barn.

Quinn shivered silently as she thought about her life. It wasn't just because of Hugh and Sarah that she's sad. She had lived with the two of them for eight years, and she had known most of the shepherds in the village. Yet, Quinn still felt that she was alienated from everyone else, and the thought alone added to Quinn's sad heart.

The people, and most of the other boys that tended the sheep were scared of Quinn's strange ways. For the boy "Quinn" had softer manners, softer skin, more delicate touches and her piercing hazel eyes scared them the most that no one dared to look into them. The stories about her fae origins had been bad enough, and Quinn had been oftentimes daydreamed about the lives beyond the village.

But what was life beyond her village? She would never know. Augsburg was surrounded by tall mountains and high cliffs, and deep, dark forest beyond the village assured the isolation of Augsburg from the other lands of Lord Weston, the duke of the lands, and her life in the village was only limited to the tending of sheep. She longed to have proper friends, one that she could dream with, one she could tell her thought and share her life.

Katherine was her only friend, but the child was only eleven. How come the small child can understand the struggles of a growing woman? She sighed and looked around the dirty barn. Surely, there must be something more for a fairy child than tending sheep and dreaming alone on a mountainside.

Suddenly, she thought of Lord Weston, one of the liege lords of King Stefan. She loved to hear tales about the duke, of his adventures, and the Secret Order – a secret society where Lord Weston was said to be a part of. She often wondered how it would feel to ride with him in battle, or to sit with him in the halls. In her mind, Quinn had always thought of Lord Weston as the father figure she had lacked – warm, loving and protective.

Quinn walked over the dirty hay and laid down. She took off the muslin cloth that she used to wrap around her upper body to hide her true sex from the outside world. It almost made her feel ashamed of being a girl, let alone a fairy child.

Her eyes felt heavy, and she felt the effect of the brew kick in. She struggled to fight the feeling of sleepiness that was invading her senses. But with each passing second, her eyelids felt like leaden weights. She was scared of what would sleep show her this time or if the fairies would come and tell her of her changeling past.


	6. The Letter

In the hearth, Sarah was bending over the fire to stoke it and spit it. Hugh was sitting on one of the chairs, he was warming himself by the fire. The sinister, red shadows sent by the flames were dancing on the wall opposite the hearth. Hugh and Sarah were whispering darkly at each other, as Quinn slept in the barn.

"You heard the child!" Sarah spit out as she hissed at her husband. Hugh was sitting on the wooden chair, his big, filthy feet were propped by a wooden chest. "She had seen them soldiers from Lord Weston's court. What if she remembers anything?"

"Hush, woman!" Hugh hissed. "Must we go back to the same thing again?"

"I just want to make sure," Sarah said. "Besides, that chest," she pointed to Hugh's feet. "That chest had caused us more trouble than it should have," she said accusingly. She did not notice that its hinges were slightly ajar.

"But those girls couldn't dare to touch the chest," Hugh said.

"Besides, I've always told them you'd beat them up if they get near the chest," she said, rather reassured. But Sarah's cruel eyes darkened again.

"But what if the soldiers would recognize her?" she asked again.

"We've made her hide as a boy, didn't we?" Hugh snapped back at his wife. "Besides, she's changed now, more than ever."

"It's the change in her I'm worried about, you idiot," Sarah growled. "She's growing up too fast and we can't even catch up for it," she said, her voice laced with disappointment. "What about Kitty? She's a chatterbox," Sarah grumbled.

"How would we know that your sister and her husband would die? And we have to shelter your niece?" Hugh growled, and being the one never to stop, rose up and cocked an eyebrow at his wife accusingly.

"It's all going wrong," Sarah sat on the chest and ran her palms through her hair. An air of exhaustion escaped through her nostrils as she sighed.

"Quit whining!" Hugh snapped again. "If you use your head rather than whining there, maybe you can have a bit more use," he scowled. "And besides, Quinn was a help, ain't she? She's forever indebted to us. Can you imagine that, wife? A waif, indebted to us!"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Yes, and the said girl is always stirring up trouble," she noted. "I saw her eye the Evans' child last week. I overheard her and Kitty talking together about their boy Sam."

Hugh sneered at the mention of the other family of shepherds. "They've always been jealous of us as ever."

It was true that the Frank Evans and Hugh had been in a lot of arguments before. Hugh and Sarah had hated the family ever since Frank had stepped up in the village square and told everyone that they have a claim on Hugh's farmlands.

"I'll fix him," Hugh growled as he knocked his fist on his palm.

But Sarah paid no attention to him. She had been thinking about Quinn already. "More than any other waif, you mean," she said sourly and her husband's eyes flickered.

When Hugh found the young Quinn in the snow eight years ago, she was with two soldiers, and a young boy. The boy was already dead, just like the two soldiers. One of the soldiers had carried a letter, along with a pouch of gold. Years back, he thought that maybe he could use the letter to secure himself and his family a fortune, but now it had caused a turmoil of fear, not just for him but for Sarah, too.

Suddenly, there was a gasp coming from Sarah, as she saw that the letter she was talking about was poking out of the chest, and she was staring at it with a horrified look on her face. Hugh had rose up to his feet, too and he wore the identical look of fear, just like his wife's.

"The letter," it was all Sarah could say and the both of them scurried to check if anything has been taken other than the paper. The pouch of gold was still there, and so was the dagger that had been with the soldier.

"Someone did look at it, alright," Hugh said gruffly. "Quinn did."

"Do you think she could understand what it said?" Sarah asked, fear creeping up to her voice.

"I don't think so. But a girl like her, she might have had a chance in learning the Latin in her old life," Hugh said. "I ain't thinking it is not possible, but I think that she could not understand."

Hugh fumbled for the key in his jerkins. "The key..." he looked at his wife in horror. "It's gone."

Sarah took the dagger and placed it on the milking stool, and she checked the contents of the chest again. They were shaken and terrified at what had happened and Hugh knew that something has to be done.

And it had to be done fast.

"What are you thinking?" Hugh asked his wife.

"I'm thinking about how weak Quinn is," Sarah said. Her eyes were twinkling as her blurry plan came to a clearer focus. "Quick, husband. Fetch me Quinn's knife."

Hugh wore a daft expression on his face, but he rose up and went to get Quinn's knife instead. When he came back, he saw that Sarah was already wearing her cape and woolen coat over her shoulders. Quickly, he turned to look at his wife.

"What are you going to do?" Hugh asked.

"I'm going to do what you should have done years ago," Sarah hissed viciously. Hugh felt a heaviness on his chest, for once he had saved the girl from Death, and he had felt a fondness of the child anyhow. And besides, he feared of having the sin of blood on his hands.

But, Sarah was already out of their thatched home. "Or even better," she said, her voice turning into malevolent bloodlust. "Turn the whole village into murdering Quinn for us."

The two adults hurried to the door, opening and slamming it back. In their haste, they did not notice a young girl crouched behind the shadows in the top of the flight of stairs, shuddering and terrified that her aunt and uncle could plot such a thing to Quinn.

When the heavy footfalls against the snow receded from the distance, Katherine made a beeline to the barn. As she ran, she grabbed the letter and the gold pouch.

In the barn, she could hear the other girl's sighs against the darkness. She quickly made her way over the hay bales and quietly leaned over Quinn.

"Quinn, Quinn..." she called, and the hazel-eyed fairy child opened her eyes.

"Yeah?" Quinn whispered inaudibly. "Are you okay?"

"I am, but you are not..." Katherine said. "You need to go away," she added.

"What?" she drowsily asked, the sleep was still invading her senses, and she struggled hard to keep up with her friend. She propped herself up against the hay bale, looking at her friend dumbly.

"You need to go away," Katherine said, and she thrust a thick woolen coat to Quinn. "Hugh and Sarah are trying to kill you."

"But what about you?" Quinn sounded worried.

"Don't worry about me," Katherine smiled wryly. "But you really need to go now, Quinn."

Quinn looked out the window and saw flickering lights from the distant hills. She knew instantly that the lights were torches – torches of the people of Augsburg, ready to kill her. A horrified look flashed through her mind, and she quickly stumbled out to the darkness of the barn.

"I have to leave," she mumbled incoherently. "My knife...I lost it..."

"Hurry, there's no more time!" Katherine said in a yelled whisper. "You can't wait for them to get back," she ran back into the house, took the dagger on the milking stool. On the way out, Katherine made a stop to get Hugh's new pair of boots and his woolen coat. She also took a chunk of cheese and dry bread.

As Katherine ran back to the barn, she could hear the shouts getting louder and louder by the second. It gave her an idea that the villagers were near. She ran quietly to the barn, and handed Quinn the dagger, wrapped the cheese and bread with a cloth and handed the parcel to Quinn. She also handed Hugh's boots and his woolen coat to the girl.

"Head north, the river will cover your scent. They are bringing the hunting dogs, go...now..." Katherine was already coaxing her to go out the barn. Quinn slipped on the provided clothes and she quickly turned to Katherine.

"Thank you," she said. But the younger girl handed her a small pack. Quinn held the pack questioningly. "What is it?"

"It's pyrite and flint. You'll need it," Katherine whispered in the dark.

Quinn's heart constricted at the thought. Katherine had brought her the elements needed to make fires. She quickly gave a warm, tight hug to Katherine, but she did not linger long enough. She quickly pushed herself up the barn door.

"And if you find your fairy family, Quinn," Kitty stifled a sob. "Make a spell to keep me safe and happy, too."

"I will, Kitty-cat. I will. I won't forget you," and Quinn ran out into the dark night.

She was just beyond the river and climbing up the opposite hill from the thatched house she had been sheltered when Hugh and Sarah arrived at the house. She could see that Katherine had gone back to the house and pretended to go back to sleep.

She was already on the top of the hill when the villagers have arrived. And looking down, Quinn could hear the voices below her. She could see that Hugh was trying to project that he was tired. Leaning her ears and trying to catch their voices in the rather quiet night, Quinn could hear them talking.

"Where's Quinn?" she heard one of the shepherds call to Hugh. Quinn could see that most of the villagers were wearing angry looks, and Frank Evans, Sam's father wore a taught, sullen look on his face.

"He's in the barn, as far as I know," Hugh yawned. "What did he do now? Did he take anything?"

"Why are you talking about stealing when it is a more serious matter?" one of the villagers bellowed. "He's a murderer!"

"He murdered Samuel Evans!" cried another villager. "We found his knife sticking on poor little Sammy's back!"

"Oh that little, ungrateful welch!" Hugh cried. From her vantage point, Quinn could see Sarah sneak out and throw something in the back of the barn. This went unnoticed by the other villagers.

"Oh, here's Sam's knife!" Sarah shrieked from behind the house, holding the knife she had tossed earlier. "I think the young fairy child murdered Sam for his knife!"

"Or maybe because the fairy child just hates humans!" one of the villagers piped up. He raised his torch and cried out into the night. "Kill the changeling!"

Cries tore through the night as the whole village of Augsburg went hunting for Quinn in the woods. For the first time in her life Quinn had really wished that hard that she was a fairy child.

But Quinn had no idea of any spell to help her now, so she went higher up to the looming, snowy mountains above her, hoping that she wouldn't meet any of the villager who would kill her and also praying for a warmer night, so she won't die of the cold.

Quinn did not waste her time sitting nor resting. Instead, she slid down the opposite side of the hill and crossed the icy rivers. She was lucky enough that the river was frozen hard enough to support her weight. She began climbing the steep riverbank when someone called her.

"Hold up there, young man," a gruff voice said. It was a soldier from Lord Weston's court.

Instantly, Quinn froze dead in her tracks. She could tell him that she was a girl, maybe he would stop, but that would make it twice as dangerous. Instead, Quinn lowered her voice until she's sure enough that she sounded like a boy. She turned to face the man, and saw that he was one of Lord Weston's men.

"Sire?" she asked. Another rider came up beside him, and Quinn shuddered at the thought of soldiers catching her and putting her into trial of a crime she hasn't committed. And a crime she'll probably have no chance of winning.

"The Turks are on their way. Rouse the people of Augsburg," he said curtly, and with an even more curt nod, he and his comrade left Quinn in the snows.

It was in Quinn's innate goodness that she would help, but for the moment, Quinn knew she had to get away as fast as possible, so she skirted the town and ran for the cold, harsh wilderness above her.


	7. The Hunt

She found a small cave by the third peak she had crossed. It's away from the wind and just below the pocket of snows. She quickly made a stop for the night and made a small fire from the stones Katherine had packed for her. She saw an auroch branch and made a fire out of it.

Before she fell asleep, her eyes fell upon the parchment Katherine had given to her. With the help of the light, she was able to see the insides of the letter. Quinn started to read.

The letter was made from parchment, now yellow and wrinkled with age. She could see the mark of an eagle on top of the parchment, and letters were written underneath it. Quinn had never read before, and she could not recall any reading she had attended. But to her surprise, Quinn could read the ciphers.

"To his lieutenant, from the hand of Lord Weston," she gasped. The letter was from Lord Weston.

"May this prove a pact between us, to the disposal of a traitor child known by the mark above, and her brother, a wolf-man, bearer of ill luck for us all. Let none give them aid in pain and death. The Lord's decision has been final for the child. If his lieutenant had been found to deviate from his orders, his rank, family, possession and life are in forfeit. Let him take his reward for carrying the girl and disposing her beyond the lands of Lord Weston."

Quinn's breath became ragged as she realized what she had been reading. A traitor, bound to be killed by Lord Weston's lieutenant, known by the mark on the parchment – the same mark on her arm, the mark of a steppe eagle spreading its wings.

She took a breath, and slowly let the air out of her lungs. Now that she knew she was of no fairy descent, and she was a girl who betrayed her lord, she wondered which was worse, her real origins or being born under the bowels of an oak tree.

The fire from the auroch branch had died down into embers. A wolf howled in the distance, making her shudder in fear. She recognized that howl. It's the song of the lone black wolf that skirted the mountains far too near for the villager's liking. Stories had milled about the lone black wolf that ate men and slayed unfortunate travelers that trek the mountains.

She drew in the thick woolen cloth that was Katherine's gift to her earlier in the night as she waited out the snowfall. She yawned, and she slowly succumb into the deep sleep. The place was freezing, but Quinn still slept.

As soon as she had her eyes closed, she was out there, running away from something she can't really understand. She felt in her heart that she was escaping from something she can't completely see or hear or comprehend, but still, she wanted to get away as soon as possible.

She could feel the grass underneath her feet, she could smell the trees and herbs as she whizzed by them. However, she stumbled against a small stump and landed on the soft mound of moss some few feet beyond her.

When her hazel eyes blinked again, she saw it there. Two pairs of dark brown eyes speckled with gold and Quinn's heart quickened. A wolf with its bared teeth was inches beyond her. At first, it looked a lot angry and almost ready to eat her up, but then the dark pair of eyes turned into a curious question, and into a safe, protective gaze.

Quinn woke up to the sounds of barking dogs on the small ravine below her. Her heart almost leaped out of her chest as she gathered her parcel of food, she took her pack and the pyrites. Quinn started moving higher up to the mountains.

She could hear the dogs' barking get nearer and nearer, and she knew that the villagers are nearing her. Quickly, Quinn scrambled up higher to the chilled stone cliff. She trekked along the ledges with pointed jagged rocks.

Once, her footing slipped, and she scrambled quickly for the rocky face. With hands flailing to help her up, Quinn hoisted herself up against the ledge, one of her feet dangling as she tried hard to find footing.

Quinn grunted as her other foot got secure on one of the crevices that dotted the cliff. The young blonde made it safely to the opposite ledge. She sighed in relief as she looked back at the now impassable rock path.

The rock path is the fastest way to get through the mountainside's rocky face. Another path led to the pinnacle of the mountain, but it would take two days' time to get through it. If Quinn wouldn't stop for now, then she could have an advantage of two days from her pursuers.

She heard the crunch of permafrost behind her, making her swing her head quickly, and then she saw Frank Evans standing behind her. The father of the boy that was now dead. He looked as if he wasn't sleeping at all.

"Quinn," he said, his lips forming a taut, thin line.

"Sir," Quinn breathed out. It's surely the death of her now. Justice was never served in the town of Augsburg.

"Quinn, I'm going to ask you just once," Frank said. His eyes were bloodshot, but they were still very clear blue. "Did you kill my son?"

Quinn's heartbeat quickened. "No."

Frank and Quinn sat on the rocks on the mountain face, watching the clouds pass by them. Their heavy breath came out as white puffs of air.

"Then why are you running away?" Frank's brows knitted in confusion.

"I..." Quinn's tears made their way into her eyes. It's true, even if she was bound to be a boy, she still had feelings for Samuel Evans. She was a girl, after all. Even with her cropped hair and all.

"You're a girl," Frank said.

"I am...and I am hiding it from everyone," Quinn blurted out. The wind whipped across them, tossing Quinn's cropped wheat-blonde hair against her face.

"I have loved Sam," Quinn admitted. She did. She's been in love with Sam, but the words of her adoptive parents were far more fearful than anything, effectively stopping her and whatever feelings she might have for Sam.

"I know you are a girl. And I knew you loved Sam more than any of us. One can see it, if they keep their eyes open. I have seen you look at my son, rather...endearingly," Frank clasped her hands. "Quinn, who killed my son?"

"My...my adoptive parents, Hugh and Sarah..." Quinn trailed off as sobs wracked through her system. Anguish got the best of her and she immediately succumbed to it.

"Here," Frank held Quinn in a tight hug. "The villagers are on their way here, but..." he trailed off as the two of them looked at the ruined pass.

"I guess they have to go down the mountainside and go through the southern pass," Frank said silently and Quinn just nodded.

"Poor son of mine," Frank sighed. "He always dreamed of being a soldier, Quinn. Swishing swords with Lord Weston and all those dreams."

Quinn did not answer. The wind howled across the face of the cairn, working its way towards the valley and out into the village below.

"Let me go," Quinn said after a while. "Let me escape. I did not kill him, Frank."

"There has to be a suspect, Quinn. Apparently all the evidences point out to you and not to Hugh," Frank said. "If you speak out for yourself, you know that there won't be justice for you on Augsburg."

"I won't be going back to Augsburg," Quinn said determinedly. "There is nothing for me to go back there. I don't have a family there."

"Very well," Franks sighed as he stood up. "You know of the town of Kisav, don't you?"

Quinn looked up. "Yes."

"Then go there," Frank said. "My father knew of a man named Hiram. He is a fierar, a fire wielder. He can be of help to shelter you. You can know his home because he is the only smith in the place. And he lives in the outskirts of the town. When you get there, tell him that I sent you. He will help you."

Quinn sat dumbfounded on the frosty rock. "Why are you helping me?"

Frank sat up. "If I can't have justice for my son's death, then I shouldn't allow justice to be served wrongly."

Quinn looked at Frank. "I shall be going now, Quinn," she heard him say. He left his pack of food for her and his walking stick. It was made of ebony, dark, sleek and black. It felt strong to Quinn's touch.

"Travel to through the ice field, and cut through it. When you get to the cairn of the mountain, head north. The village of Kisav would be two weeks' walk from the cairn. I've left you my knife in the pack. When Hiram asks of me, give it to him. And remember, Quinn. Honesty is your best ally," Frank said, as he went down a narrow pathway – a deer trail, smoothed out by the years of deer walking each season.

"Ice field?" Quinn felt the dead ghost through her lips. Has Frank gone crazy?

Frank clicked his tongue. "Out there in the ice field, you will leave no tracks. There's a deer trail that leads through it, it's a lot steeper and more difficult to traverse than the path, but it would be worth it."

Frank went to get his staff. "Here's my staff. Use it. There are a lot of pitfalls and dangerous turns in the ice field. Use the staff to test the ice before you step on it. Do not stop in the ice field, Quinn. And never fall asleep. Do not stop walking. Not unless you get past beyond the ice field," he handed Quinn the staff.

"Thank you. Frank," Quinn said and smiled at the man. Frank smiled at her, too. Then, the man started to descend the mountain. But, he turned before he completely left the path.

"And Quinn, when you get to a warmer place, change your clothes to cover your scent. They're bringing the dogs," he said at Quinn.

Quinn watched Frank descend down the mountain until Frank's image vanished through the cold frosty air. She quickly skidded upwards, out into the open air and she walked further up to the mountaintop.

Her knees and legs hurt from walking, and her pack got heavier and heavier by the minute. She saw a log, and Quinn picked it up. She could use it sometime, but she had to carry it for now. Watching her step as the deer trail became steeper and harder to discern. Twilight came and the mountainside up ahead her glowed with a blazing orange color. It took Quinn a few moments to realize it.

She's staring at the ice field beyond her.


	8. The Ice Field

Quinn walked up farther the culvert. She could feel the ground beneath her go colder and colder. Until, with every step she took, she could hear the ice cracking. She kept on walking until she could see only the blue of the ice beneath her. She could see her breaths turn into puffs of white clouds in front of her.

A blast of cold tore through the field, and it almost knocked Quinn down. By then the surroundings grew dark and the moon had risen above the clouds. After a few more struggling steps, Quinn chanced to stand up and look below her. She caught sight of a log by the end of the steep rocky path and she picked it up.

She could see the deer track down below, and when she looked up ahead of her, her mouth almost dropped in astonishment. Beyond her was a mass of white, bathed in the moonlight and the glow of the dark night, was the ice field. However, it did not have just the white color. The solid water had made the pale moonlight dance around the ice plain in a thousand colors.

But even the beauty couldn't make Quinn stop. She prodded on and walked much farther beyond her, the dancing shadows left by the moonlight and the bitter cold battering against her body as she tested the ice that would hold her next step. The task alone was arduous, but Quinn can't be deterred.

She looked back for after some time. To her horror, she had only covered only a little of the ice field. She was shocked. To her, she felt like she had been walking for years, but she had only covered less than a mile. She sighed. Her parcel of food and Frank's pack had gotten heavier, and so did the log. She thought of throwing the log away, but instead she prodded on.

She felt so small and dwarfed at the thought of the immensity of the ice. She looked around for a place to shelter from the cold, but she remembered Frank's words. She shouldn't stop.

The wind howled across the ice, and it seemed to carry voices with it. "Traitor!" it shouted.

Quinn winced, as if she was in internal pain. Quinn quickly took off across the ice, but the winds persisted. "Traitor!"

The wind got stronger and stronger, until it sounded like a great bellow across the ice. It sounded like it was calling her, or sometimes, it sounded like it was mocking her, calling her a changeling, or taunting her as a traitor. Quinn pulled her woolen cape harder against her shivering body.

The thought of coming back was more than overpowering to her, yet the thought of being tried unfairly for a crime she did not commit let her move on. A soft scuffle sounded behind her, and Quinn quickly pivoted her head to check on the noise. But she did not have enough time to see what was happening behind her, for there was a bigger problem presented in front of her.

Suddenly, the girl felt the ground beneath her crush into a thousand pieces, and she desperately waved up her arms to catch the thicker ice beyond her. Unfortunately though, it only took her a few seconds to realize she was falling into the abyss of ice below.

Quinn felt a hard surface hold her up, but when she blinked her ice, her visions went black.

Earlier during the day, many miles far below the glacier, Santana was trudging through a rocky path and saw a sitting hare on the opposite side of the small stream that flowed just next to the path. She quickly moved to avoid the upwind, making sure that her scent can't be picked up by the hare.

However, it was too late. The hare had already noticed her. The hare stood on its hind legs, too shocked to comprehend of the impending danger. Santana saw this as her only chance, and she quickly positioned herself to pounce on the hare.

However, no sooner than she can look into the hare's eyes, she could feel her visions clouding. She could feel the action of the Sight in her. She immediately cowered as the pain stroked the fibers of her mind and she slumped few feet away from the hare, just on the bank of the opposite side of the stream with a yelp.

For a few moments, Santana lay on the ground, heartbeat racing, the pulsing in her head pounding. It was only until she heard something even more alarming than the manifestations of the power of the Sight – human scent.

"It's here! It's that black loner!" Hugh cried as he raised his knife. "Don't let it go!"

"Not a wasted journey," another villager called as it pointed to Santana.

The villagers set the dogs up to see Santana and let her scent sink in their noses. After a while, the dogs became more and more ferocious. Hugh let the dogs go.

"Quick, the boy may have escaped us, but this one won't! This creature had been ravaging the valley for far too long. Don't let it escape! Its pelt would sell real gold in the market back in Augsburg! And the dogs need to taste blood!"

Shouts echoed across the evergreen forest as Hugh and the villagers took off after her. Santana stood on her feet, steadying herself. She quickly drew in a deep breath from her muzzle and blew a great howl. With a snarl, she turned away from the hustle of the undergrowth.

The villagers froze for a moment as they heard the large wolf howl. "That's the demon inside it, howling like a wounded soul," they had cried in fear.

"No," Hugh said. "It's scared. Let's run after it," he said and the villagers was up with a new, pitched frenzy again. The men hurried after the dog barks.

The men had picked up the scents of the wolf, making Santana run faster and higher up the rocky mountain face. When the lone black wolf had realized it, she was following an old, smoothed deer track higher up the mountain.

Cold wind cut through the mountain slope, the ice in the air was evident and Santana pressed her black muzzle forwards, sniffing the icy air that swept across the land. She smelled deer. Deer was up ahead, waiting to be killed.

Santana sprang forwards happily, for she knew that the hunters behind her were no longer capable of following her, for her tracks were nothing but a faded sign on the terrain, and her scent was now covered by the icy wind. It's still faint to the senses of the wolf, but for a human nose, it had been covered by the winds.

She followed the deer track until sundown. Her stomach grumbled. Food – she must seek food now. She thought. She looked farther up the great expanse of the solid water that slowly trickled across the mountain. It was the ice field, bathed in an almost pale golden light by the rising moon. The wind howled across the ice field, and a blizzard began.

Santana moved towards the steep slope that led to the edge of the ice field. She's used to the high mountains, but not to this extent. She never encountered a country like this before, a place of jagged rocks that can kill or and ice field that would freeze you to death, or a land that harbors life next to nothing. The wolf stepped on a loose rock, sending her down to another batch of pointed, jagged rocks. One unfortunately caused a cut on her front paw.

Santana whimpered as she felt the pain radiating from her from paw. Santana slipped a couple of times, but she had prodded on. She hadn't had anything substantial to eat for a few days, and Santana knew that food was still hard to find.

She could feel the ice below her paws, and she thought bitterly – ice, the still element that holds all potentials. She was thankful that the ice weren't having too many blind cracks. Compared to Quinn, who had traversed the same face of the ice hours earlier, Santana's steps were lighter.

It wasn't for a while through the blizzard that Santana saw a black silhouette against the gray snowstorm ahead of her. At first she thought it was just another animal. The black wolf's eyes were accustomed to the snows, and Santana further realized that it was no animal – it was a young human.

It dawned to Santana that the human was battling with the storm, alone. She had no idea why the human was out in the cold night. But, Santana smiled inwardly at the thought of how weak and vulnerable the human girl was who was alone in the ice field, battling with the blizzard.

Animals weakened in the wild by nature were easy to hunt and kill. Silently, Santana thanked the wolf gods for sending the gift of nourishment. Santana realized that in her ferocious hunger, she had an easy prey ahead of her.

She started to circle around her prey. The sight alone of the weakened prey, huddled in a woolen coat, caused pride coursing through the wolf's system, pumping adrenaline over the wolf. She kept coming closer and closer, until she was barely a feet away behind the human.

Curling her lower lip, Santana snarled, and moved towards the human form, who just turned to check the noise behind her. Yet, as she prepared for her pounce jumped, the wolf felt a sharp pain originating from her forehead. It was too late to figure out what was happening to her, though, because Santana felt the ice cracking beneath her paws.


	9. The Sight

**AN: This is the deleted chapter. This chapter is supposed to happen before CHAPTER 9: MORE VISIONS. I am so sorry I uploaded the wrong chapter. You would probably think I am the lamest fanfiction writer ever. Again, I apologize.**

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Quinn winced, struggling to open her eyes. Her effort was painful, for it seemed like her eyes were frozen shut. When she opened her eyes, she was met by something bright above her. It's almost blinding even. She felt an agonizing pain crawl up her left leg – she had sprained her ankle badly. A sob came out of her lips, and it left her as a hollow echo that bounced back the walls. It was when Quinn had the proper bearing of where she was.

She had fallen into a cave – an ice cave. Her hazel eyes had cleared and she saw the blue sky above her. It had stopped snowing, and the dawn had come. She wondered how long she had been laying there, and to her it seemed like a very long time. It was just a few hours, actually.

Quinn twisted, and laid on her other side painfully. She scanned the chamber of ice that enclosed her. It was twice as big as the barn in Augsburg, a little bit bigger that Hugh's hearth. It clicked in Quinn's mind how dangerous the place she was in, she's thirsty and she's freezing.

She needed to get her pack. Quinn looked around for her pack in panic. If she lost it, then she would never had the chance of surviving. She caught sight of it, it had slid so far away from her, out into the corner of the ice chamber.

Quickly, Quinn pushed herself up with her elbows, and tried to slide though the ice, but she could not move. The pain tore through her lower leg and into her body. Quinn sobbed helplessly. Exhaustion was starting to reclaim her body once more, and Quinn fought hard not to fall asleep again. Frank's words about falling asleep in the ice field echoed through her mind.

But sleep did come in hazy images. A dream started to seize her. To her, it did not even feel like dreaming. It felt more like she was trying to remember. She could remember the cries, the whinnying horses, she could hear herself panting for air, and a young boy was running next to her. As she looked at him, she felt like he was her brother.

Edmund – that's what she called him. They were running away from men chasing them. The men were in black, and they had broad swords. The foliage rushed by beside them as they tried to run from it, but at last, a pair of hands tangled through the two of them. Quinn could hear her brother's cries as they were torn from each other.

Then she saw two people riding away from them, while an older girl held their hands protectively. She felt like they she was their sister. Fran, Frieda...she can't remember the name. But she could see that one night the said girl crying in her room, and saying that their parents won't come back anymore. And there stood a stately man, holding the girl lovingly in his arms.

However, a pang of guilt washed over her as she saw them eye her viciously, and she held Edmund – her brother close to her chest. Suddenly, Quinn realized that somehow, she and her brother were the cause of her parent's death, in the teeth of wild wolves.

Her dream traveled into a snowy evening. She held her brother close to her, they were on a horse, and two soldiers seemed to be with them. There was a rumble of the earth below her, and when she opened her eyes again, it was Hugh that she saw. She saw her brother, frozen to death, along with the soldiers.

And now, Quinn almost wished she was dead, for she had realized she caused her parents to be food for the wild wolves, and her brother dead in the cold. Quinn had failed her duty, and she now understood why there had always been that empty space filled with guilt inside her. It wasn't because she was not man enough for Hugh and Sarah, but it was because she had failed her duty as Edmund's sister and caused the death of their parents.

She wondered, briefly, if the tales of fairies and goblins had been her way of escaping the bitter truth of life. She had wondered, if she had clung to these tales and stories to conceal the harsh reality of her origin.

Quinn woke up with a start. Something was looming above her. A shadow. But she paid no heed on it. Then she remembered, the young girl with hair like hers – Fran, Freida, Frey...her sister. What of her? Had she died in the snows, too? Was she murdered by the wolves? Maybe she's still alive. Quinn tried standing up, but flailed and landed on the snow on her hurt side. The chamber darkened.

She opened up her eyes again, and the great shaft of sunlight that flooded in the cave first made it difficult to see. Once her eyes adjusted to the lighting, Quinn could see better – and her heart nearly froze.

Just above her were a pair of brown eyes, flecked with amber, looking down at her, snarling and baring teeth. She could also see a black muzzle amidst the smoky puffs of air. The smell sent alarm coursing through her mind, and fear paralyzing her body.

It was a black wolf. Hunters of the wild and animals that may eat man. It was standing on the ledge above her. With a hungry growl, it jumped next to her, ready to bite on her neck.

Quinn backed to the cave wall, the ice chilling her back. With her good leg, she kicked off the ice, sending shards of it flying to wolf's direction, but it had agitated the wolf even more. The wolf lunged forwards, and Quinn closed her eyes, covering her neck with her right arm and covering her chest with her left. She's certain it's her end. She was made to hide herself from the world and the danger that came with it, but now the world had caught up to her.

To Quinn's surprise, there was a loud thud and a whimper that followed and Quinn opened her eyes. The black wolf was sliding on the ice, like a cat testing its footing. It's tail was raised slightly. "Go away!" Quinn had yelled.

To Santana, it had gone all her instincts to get inside that cave. He had scouted the human for from above after it fell under the ice. For hours, he stood watching the human, going against the growl of his stomach. Finally, hunger won out, but when she was ready to bite down the human's neck, and the young human's face came in proper view, Santana could not find it in herself to hurt the human girl.

She recognized the face. It was the boy in the water, showed to her in visions.

But to the wolf's confusion, it wasn't a boy. It was a girl. Somehow, Santana's heart had been filled with wonder and fear. The boy she saw in the vision was actually a girl. Something else was happening to her. The throbbing pain was back on her forehead again, and Quinn could feel it, too. The human girl was wincing and scrunching her face up in pain.

The girl and the wolf looked at each other, staring at eye-to-eye level under the glittering ice. Santana looked a little sideways, feeling trapped and threatened inside the ice chamber. The distant voice inside her head told her to fear the watery death, but when she looked back into Quinn's eyes, she felt less afraid, knowing that the ice was was unmoving and Santana realized it would not drown her.

To Quinn's relief, the wolf padded across the ice chamber and sat on the opposite corner, just next to her pack. It swung its muzzle and watched Quinn with keen eyes. She realized that the wolf might change its mind, and it might attack her the next second. It clicked in Quinn's mind, she was now the prisoner of this dreaded creature of the night.

Mist clouded out the wolf's panting muzzle. Quinn could see every part of the animals wildness about it. The sleek, black hair, the spindly legs, the strength hidden in the wolf's forepaws. Quinn had seen though, that an ugly wound was starting to fester on its flesh. Brown eyes flecked with gold met her gaze and instantly, Quinn looked away, for fear that she would agitate the hunter more.

Suddenly, Quinn felt as if she was born again, in the womb of pure cold, along with the wolf and all of the other animals in the wild. Looking back into the life she once had in Augsburg, she remembered that she had been closer to the animals than anyone else. She could feel that they were less dangerous than people. But here she was, with a wild wolf she had never encountered, and it was guarding her intently.

Santana stared at the human girl. Could a creature as vulnerable as this could have something to nature's survival? She sat with an amused growl, but Quinn took it wrong an fear invaded her looks. Santana was truly enjoying how the human girl could be afraid at even a wolf's growl. But then again, Santana was a big, vicious creature.

For hours, Quinn and Santana stared at each other. When Quinn would make a move or make a noise, Santana would growl and raise her tail in warning. It was like playing with Brittany on the riverbank when they were still cubs. It brought a small dull ache in the lone wolf's heart.

"Wolf," Quinn whispered. "I will come near you. I mean you no harm..." she tried to smile and kept her gaze down. Thinking utterly foolish of herself.

"I will only get my pack," she looked at the pack, and Santana just licked her injured paw. "I mean you no harm."

Quinn crawled forwards, nearer the dreaded animal. She could smell the scent of the wolf, and the smell of its last kill on its mouth. She was very near the wolf's mouth, and if the wolf would strike now, she knew it would be her end. Finally, Quinn caught her pack, and she dragged it towards her.

Clasping her pack, she brought out Frank's knife, and a piece of meat that was badly smoked. However, she took the food with glee, and she cut it into two. The other piece was bigger, and she tossed it to the wolf. She ate the remaining half, letting the juices flow through her system, rejuvenating her.

Santana, on the other hand had snapped the meat in whole, and in three succeeding big chews, it was gone down her throat. She wasn't very much happy about the meat being cooked, she preferred it raw, but still it was a nourishment that was hard to miss.

"Wolf, we must get out of here, or we will freeze to death," Quinn said to the wolf. To Santana, it sounded almost like growls, but she could not understand it. She only knew that the girl meant her no harm. And besides, she didn't feel threatened, whatsoever, so she just licked her paw instead.

Quinn quietly slid down the other side of the chamber, and was attempting to stand up on her legs properly. The pain on her leg was just a dull ache, and Quinn was reaching for the ledge above her. It was a few hands up, but if she could just jump...she reached it with her two hands.

Quinn tried hoisting herself up, but she could feel that her fingers were dangerously slipping against the ice. With a scream, Quinn fell back onto the icy floor, just next to the wolf. The wolf scampered up and growled at Quinn, but it felt the same throbbing pain on its forehead and Quinn did the same.

Santana stopped and just blinked there, staring and gaping at Quinn. The girl was also gaping wide-eyed, mainly because she was inches away from the white teeth that would mark her death in the fangs of a wolf.

"What are you doing? Falling as high as that!" Quinn could hear a voice inside her head, a little bit snarky and violent. She did not know where it came from, but she could hear it very well.

"Who are you?" Quinn said, in a scared tone. The only thing was, she thought she had said it out loud, but in reality, she was speaking with her mind.

"I am Santana," the voice replied, and Quinn realized that there was no one else in the ice chamber, except her and the wolf.

"What is happening to us?" Quinn asked again, the pain on her forehead was ceasing into almost nothing. She was now openly staring at the wolf and she was as if talking to it.

"It's the Sight," the wolf said back. They were searching Quinn's hazel eyes. "You have the gift of the Sight. You can understand me. You are Quinn, are you not?"

"I am. I am Quinn," she replied at the wolf. "We need to get out of here. I am cold."

The wolf tipped its head. "Yes, we should. But if you are cold, don't you humans know how to make those red flowers bloom?"

"Red flowers?" Quinn asked. "What do you mean?"

"Fire..." Santana answered. "Your packs call them fires."

Quinn nodded. "Right," she answered. And she knelt down, and took the pyrite and flint out of her pack. She looked for something for the sparks to catch on, and she remembered the letter in her pocket. She knew she might regret it, but there was no other choice. She quickly took it out, and started making the fire, with Santana, the lone wolf who could speak with Quinn through her mind watched.

"We need to get out of this cold chamber soon," Santana said. She was warmed by her fur, but she had welcomed the heat from the flame openly and Quinn was holding her hand out near the flames to warm them.

"You're right, wolf," Quinn sighed, feeling so strange as to why she could understand the wolf. Suddenly, all the tales of fairies and stolen fairy children and elves and goblins became a little bit faded for Quinn. She felt like she _was_ really a fairy child, born in the cold womb of ice, and this was far more greater, more fascinating, and stranger than any changeling story she had ever heard of.


	10. More Visions

The two of them sat around the fire until it burned out, but, Quinn could see the daylight stream through the gaping hole above them. It sent her a bit of cheer, but a dark looming still enclosed her, for they were still trapped in the icy chamber.

She looked around, the fire had died out, now that the log it was burning had turned to gray ash and the ice that it had melted had made a small stream flowing to another end of the chamber. Quinn quickly made her way towards it.

She felt for the ice, and with the hilt of Frank's knife, she bashed away at the ice wall. It had made a small hole in the wall, she could insert her thumb through it. Santana just watched her from a distance, as she licked her injured paw.

With rejuvenated strength and new hope that there might be a way out of the place, Quinn bashed at the ice faster and harder. Soon, she could feel part of the ice wall cracking, revealing an ice tunnel. She looked at Santana, a smile plastered on her pale face.

"Santana, come," she retrieved her pack on the ice. "I think I found us a way out."

Quietly, the girl and the wolf padded to the ice tunnel. Quinn wormed her way into the small, cramped space and she beckoned the wolf to follow her. Obediently, Santana followed, for some reasons, she knew that there was some greater thinking governing her and her instincts to hunt. Puffs of white breath came out of Quinn's mouth and nostrils, and so did the similar puffs of air came out of Santana's muzzle.

The girl and the wolf seemed to crawl the tunnel after sometime, until Quinn could feel the tunnel grow wider and wider, until she could feel the colder air about her neck, through her spiky wheat-blonde hair. She got out of the tunnel, only to find herself in the middle of another ice chamber.

Santana appeared next to the girl, her muzzle puffing even bigger white puffs of air as she panted. Her fur was spiky, too. It was very much like Quinn's hair. Both the girl and the wolf fixed their gaze across the ice cathedral.

It was fifty or seventy-five times bigger than the previous chamber they were in, and the ice they were standing on dangerously sloped down like a frozen waterfall, leading to a floor of sharp, jagged icicles that seemed to be intended there to skewer anyone who unfortunately falls in the chasm.

Quinn's heart fell as she realized it was no way out, but a way to die in an even worse death than the first chamber. She looked up, and she could see the sky through the thin ice roof of the cathedral. Impressions of clouds blowing above them met Quinn's gaze. It was beautiful, breathtaking.

Santana whined. Both of them were freezing, but there's no way they can reach to the thin ice roof. And get out of the place they've been trapped in. Quinn's eyes scanned the whole room the second time, and she spotted a narrow ledge that led to an even narrower bridge, almost a hundred feet in length, that lay concealed on the darker side of the cathedral. It led to a small staircase, or at least that's what Quinn thought so, and into a foyer, where the ice slopes up – the perfect way out. Another flame of hope flickered inside her heart.

"Come, Santana. We must cross the ice bridge," she had said to the wolf, who was now standing on guard, muzzle pressed forward. The stance of the wolf alone made Quinn look back at the bridge. She gulped.

There were no natural arches, no natural barricades that could support the narrow bridge. Quinn knew instantly that it could barely hold her weight on, let alone the weight of her, a pack, and a big wolf. The ice was shining, and it was so thin. Let alone it was so slippery, and the jagged ice that pointed upwards seemed to cluster even more under the bridge.

But Quinn had to cross that bridge. She knew she needed to, if she would want to survive from this cold. Throwing her pack towards the opposite side of the bridge, she looked at the wolf. "I am going to get us out of here, wolf."

The wolf just flickered its tail for a moment and watched Quinn walk to the middle of the bridge. The wolf, feeling safe as Quinn trudged the treacherous ice walk, followed her. She pocketed her pyrite, and Frank's elder-hilted knife. She bent her torso to pick up her pack, when suddenly, she could hear the ice cracking underneath her feet.

In a breathless gasp, Quinn ran for the safety of the thicker part of the bridge. When she looked back, she could see the bridge's middle crumble down and get swallowed up with to the darkness below. She could not see her pack anymore. The clothes, the remaining deer meat, the gold coins, the dagger – everything was gone, except for the pyrites, whom she had pocketed, and the knife Frank had given her, whom she had with her and the clothes that stuck with her were the only things that she had now – and Santana.

Suddenly, Quinn's mind sprung to action. In the fear, the wolf had lunged sideways against the ice wall and backed off. Now, the wolf was on the other side of the broken bridge, while Quinn was on the upper side, with the void between them.

"Santana, you have to jump," Quinn tried to connect with Santana's thoughts, all she can see was red and a darkened blur. Santana was afraid.

"I can't. It's too far," the wolf replied, sending out a sad, desperate howl. "I can't jump that far."

Quinn pleaded with her eyes across the ice cathedral. "Please, Santana. You have to jump. The ice is cracking and you need to get out of there. Jump, please. You can do it. Just believe you can do it."

Santana took in air, and with one powerful lunge, she went sailing into the air. A normal dog couldn't have done it, but with the wolf, with evolution changing the wolf's legs and strengthening it, Santana had reached the other side of the ice bridge.

The ice underneath her back paws suddenly gave away, and hadn't been for Quinn, who without even thinking, had lunged forwards and grabbed Santana by her dark coat, the wolf would've been skewered by the sharpened ice shards down below.

The human touch was foreign to Santana, and it brought her a sense of danger. Being an animal of the wild, the very first thing that could scare Santana was human proximity. And now, Quinn was too close, too close. She snarled and tried to bite off the human girl's head. Hadn't it been for the momentum that they both have and hadn't they fell on the floor, Quinn would have been lying lifeless on the ground by now, her throat torn by Santana's wolf fangs.

Immediately, when Quinn realized that Santana had snapped on her and almost, almost snapped her throat open, her hands that were clinging to Santana's coat lowered in defeat, and she quickly stood up, picking up the knife. She'll not lose it, for Frank had told her to give it to Hiram the fire wielder when she gets to Kisav.

She's not disappointed at Santana. Instead, she was disappointed at herself, for who was she to think that she could tame a wild animal such as Santana's kind? She's insane to believe so.

She stomped up the staircase-like ice and started bashing at the thin ice on top of them. On her third try, she broke the ice, and a gush of fresh air rushed about her face. She basked on it, and she chanced to look far out west. The white surf-like cloud was fast approaching. It was a blizzard.

Quickly, Quinn sank back into the depth of the ice cave, for she had felt the lonesomeness again. It was as if, she was meant to be tried too many times in her young life. The wolf looked pitifully at her, almost guiltily, its eyes pleading forgiveness. But Quinn wasn't ready to forgive her yet.

Instead, that night, under the cold blizzard, the two of them slept separately.

In the ice cathedral, the temperature was lower, for the ice had smaller air passageways on them, letting the ice-bitten winds in and out, ultimately freezing the air around it. Quinn had no fire, there was no more log to burn, nothing more. Her pyrites were now useless. Her knife was useless, and her spirit was down, for Santana had snapped at her earlier. If she had known about science, she could have covered her head, for it was the place where most of the heat from the body escapes.

But instead of making amends with the wolf, she tried to go to sleep, a sleep filled with nightmares. The blizzard battled on above her head. And Quinn for a moment, paused to look up at the great murky sky. Then she wished she was better off dead.

Santana watched the girl carefully. She's shivering, and Santana knew it was no good sign at all. When Santana looked again at Quinn she was sleeping. Santana knew that life itself was finally ebbing from Quinn's body, but for some reasons, she was too proud to admit her mistake. Santana closed her wolf eyes.

Suddenly, there was a vision. Nature, and man – together. Man benefited from nature...but then, man abused it. From iron crawling bugs, to a mushroom in the sky that rained deaths among the humans, the scorched earth, dying planet, dying nature – destruction. The melting of ice caps, and the Great Winter.

Santana wondered, why would someone, someone like man be related to Nature's survival when man himself would destroy it. Does this mean that the girl, the human girl should be killed now, so that all the suffering can't happen?

But Santana opened her eyes, and the vision was on the ice wall of the cathedral. And when she looked at Quinn, Santana could see that the vision changed into laughing humans, orchards and flowers and the changing of seasons, from winter to spring, and to summer – where all things are in abundance and there was happiness.

Suddenly, Brittany's face appeared and Santana felt sorry for thinking such about Quinn. As Quinn's life was ebbing away from her, Santana pawed through the ice and laid next to Quinn. She whimpered, as if a small cub, asking for forgiveness.

"I forgive you," Quinn had said. "I'm sorry, too."

Even if Quinn hadn't used the Sight, she still understood Santana, in some mysterious way. She was too weak to use the Sight anymore. She slung her weak arm against Santana's warm fur.

"Go, run. Be free," Quinn sighed sadly. "I can't get out of here. Go, find your destiny. Maybe, I wouldn't know about mine, wouldn't know of my parents and where I came from, of my brother, or what happened to my sister, but you could know about your destiny, Santana."

The wolf didn't flinch. Quinn laid her head on Santana's fur, feeling the life return to her directly, as if through the wolf. Being warmed, she quickly fell asleep on the wolf's chest.


	11. Caught

Quinn woke up to the clear, blue, cloudless skies of the mountains. The blizzard was over. The wolf was long gone by her side, but the sun was shining through the broken ice. A strange, stench filled her nose. It was something sweet in a way, but she was really repelled by its odor.

She had smelled the same scent a few times already, when she butchered the sheep on Christ Mass. It was the scent of blood, a freshly made kill. She retched, as she saw the bleeding meat of a young mountain goat lying a few feet beside her.

The wolf was lapping her muzzle clean off the blood. Quinn looked at Santana questioningly. Santana looked back at Quinn with her brown eyes. The horror ran from her nerves, sending a shiver on her spine as she looked at the piece of flesh, raw and uncooked, dripping wet with blood. The now-familiar and now-bearable sensation came into Quinn's forehead again.

"I spied a mountain goat almost freezing down the glacier," Santana's thoughts came inside Quinn's mind. Instantly, Quinn knew what Santana wanted her to do. But something inside her caused her to hesitate, and made her refuse to do so.

"Eat up, man cub," Santana's thoughts said again.

Quinn gulped as she looked into the brown eyes in front of her. "I can't, Santana."

"Eat up, or you'll starve and die of hunger," the wolf reasoned, she growled angrily as she did so. "Would you give up living? I thought you were stronger, man cub."

Quinn eyed the raw meat with a disgusted look on her face. It was wet with blood and smelled pungent. She blinked slowly as the wolf looked down at her with an apprehending look.

"Take it down, or you will die out of hunger," Santana growled again, as she moved near Quinn and almost pushed the meat with her muzzle towards Quinn's mouth.

Quinn indeed was an animal. Her instincts for survival was just as strong as Santana's, perhaps even stronger. She thought of how young Katherine would have arduously care for her, no matter how dire the situation was and pushed herself up the ice. She willed herself not to vomit or retch at the thought of eating raw meat like a beast.

She bared her teeth on the soft meat and she tore a thin sliver of it, and she chewed, although very slowly. She tried to hold down the bite of the bloody meat, even if she was loathing the food she was ingesting herself. Suddenly, she found something on the ice floor beside Santana's front paws. It was a root that deers usually eat – and Quinn put down the bloody meat.

She took the root and chewed on it. It tasted like potatoes on her mouth, although a little bit acrid. Santana just looked at her as she hungrily ate the root crop that Santana had brought for her.

"It was a few feet away from my kill. I caught scent of it," Santana said silently. She did not tell Quinn how she had to dig through ice to retrieve that coveted root meal.

"Oh, Santana."

Quinn picked up the root and touched by the wolf's determination for her to survive, she proceeded to eat the root crop with much more vigor. She sat up a little more and persisted on eating the root.

"Good, man child. Even if you prefer to eat roots, one day I will teach you the true ways of a Putnar," Santana's thoughts said.

"Putnar, you say, Santana?" Quinn asked.

"Predators of earth, you and I...all of the animals," Santana explained as she sat down and watched Quinn eat the last remaining parts of the roots

When Quinn was finished, Santana's eyes glittered like jewels. "There," she said with a pleased tone. "You've done well, just like that man cub long ago."

"Man cub? What do you mean, Santana?" Quinn asked.

"Oh, you would not know the legend, Quinn," Santana answered. "Even I could not believe it, although I am there when it happened."

"Tell me about it," Quinn could suddenly feel a pit under her stomach growing and it felt like she's starting to fall into it.

"It was a child, a baby Dragga," Santana said. "I almost think of it as a fable myself. But it was how the story went. The baby Dragga, a human boy, as you would call it, was stolen by the wolves to protect him from my evil aunt, Belladonna. It was part of a legend."

Quinn's eyes were full of fascination. This wolf...this information, this was something new, but then again, why would she bother knowing was strange or not.

"Stolen? From where, Santana?" Quinn could hear the thump on her heart.

"From village below a stone den on top of a mountain, Quinn," Santana's wolf eyes squinted as if she was trying to remember something. "Castles, your kind call those stone dens castles."

The young blonde-haired girl wondered. Images of her dreams of a fairy castle in the sky flashed through her mind. The wolf looked at her with questioning eyes. Santana was partly wondering why her gift of Sight can't take a look into Quinn's mind, even if she can talk to her through thoughts.

"Why was it taken?" Quinn asked. She had felt a strong feeling that the boy that Santana had been talking about had something to do with her.

"As I said it, Quinn, the boy had something to do with the Sight. He has the gift of Sight, too. And just like you, he was marked."

"Santana, tell me, how was he marked?"

Santana paused, as if she was thinking back to the days when she had carried the boy on her back. Then, the wolf closely looked at Quinn's face, as if she was studying and comparing it to something she had seen before. The girl in front of the wolf wore a bewildered look as the wolf scrutinized her.

"You have the same eyes. Golden and wolf-like," Santana finally said. "But he had a green splinter on his left, and he had a wolf's hair on his belly..." she drawled. "Like a fur...a wolf fur."

Suddenly, the hazy dreams, the hazel eyes of her brother...and that fateful day when they were both running through the woods. What took her brother weren't men on horseback. She remembered it clearly now. The memories came flooding to her like a torrent in a deep, steep canyon.

They were traversing the woodland when Edmund sniffed the air, and she did so. They caught scents of the wolf and they heard howling. Nothing scared them more but wolves, for they knew what danger was ahead if ever they encounter one. They ran through the thick foliage, but Quinn got tangled on a mass of vines that they went through. It was where she had lost Edmund.

They weren't pursued by men in black tunics and in horseback, but of gray wolves. Three days later, Edmund was found near the edge of the village, smelling of wolf scent. But her memories only ended there. She couldn't place the other hanging memory of her parents leaving them on horseback.

"What are you thinking, man cub?" Santana asked, unable to dig deep into the human thoughts, but she can feel that the cogs and gears in Quinn's mind were furiously turning.

"My brother..." Quinn belted out in a hushed whisper. "It was my brother."

Santana's wolf-eyes squinted. "How can this be? I carried the boy back to the village where he belongs, man cub."

Quinn and Santana stared at each other long and hard. It was true, their destinies were tangled together, bound by the gift of Sight. The wolf's heart was beating rapidly, as well as Quinn's. Some of their questions were answered, and for once, Quinn finally knew that she had a family...that someone else knew she had a real family.

"Where did you return him?" Quinn asked.

"Back to the edge of the village below the stone den, back to two women with the golden manes. Two Drappas, his human mother and sister, I suppose," Santana answered. "If he was your brother, then, I wish him well. He was called Bran, after the omega cub of our pack."

"No," Quinn said softly, tears threatening to fall from her eyes. "Santana...he's...dead."

Suddenly, the girl could feel the wolf's spirits whimper and howl sadly. But, Quinn continued on, choking on the tears she's trying so hard to stop from falling. "He died in the snows eight years ago."

"Oh, Quinn..." Santana sounded sad and helpless. The wolf pawed near Quinn, and Quinn hugged the side of the wolf and there, she cried.

"It's alright now, man cub. Bran may not be with us physically, but he is always in our hearts," Santana consoled. "I never knew him that much, but he is still important to me, for he had provided me light in my dark world, just like what you are doing now. We shall be fine, Quinn. Bran will look out for us from the Beyond," Santana's thoughts tried to touch Quinn's.

Her wolf heart bled out for Quinn, for she had known how hard must it had been to lose a loved one. She rubbed her warm muzzle onto Quinn's neck, and Quinn's sobs turned into sniffles. "Let's rise up, man cub. Bran would not want you giving up."

Quinn looked at the wolf differently now. It was as if she had grown up in a span of minutes. With knowing about her brother, about how they were cruelly sent to exile, the both of them, by Lord Weston, she had more and more questions. Especially why they were sent to exile, who was the girl with the gold hair in her dreams, whom she thought as her sister, and why her parents left them.

"But I have to tell you something more important, too. Something way bigger than this."

"What is it, Santana?" Quinn asked.

"It's about your destiny," the wolf thought. "If what I heard was true, you are somehow connected to the survival of nature itself."

"What? How?" Quinn asked in a surprised tone.

"I don't know. We have to find the Guardians of the mysteries of the Sight to answer that," Santana answered. "I would find him and reveal your destiny."

Quinn did not answer. Instead she sat there, thinking. The ice chamber was silent for sometime, except for the quiet sniffling of the girl who had now calmed down from her sobbing. She knew she can't bring her brother back, but she can do something for herself, so that the memory of her brother could be fully clear to her.

"Santana, you said you returned the boy to his mother and sister?" Quinn asked. "That would mean they are alive."

"Perhaps," the wolf answered.

"I need to find them, my mother...and my sister, and the village you were talking about. I need to find it. Find it and remember who I really am," her voice broke as she said the last words. "This village, Santana, how does it look like?"

"The kind of village I had seen on most of my meetings with humans," she had answered.

Quinn stood up and wobbled on her legs, but she caught the ice wall of the cathedral and steadied herself.

"Peace, man cub," Santana said as she sprung forwards to catch Quinn with her body if ever the girl falls. "The wild is dangerous and tricky. You mustn't be hasty nor foolish."

Quinn swayed a little. "You need more strength," Santana said.

Quinn looked at the wolf. "Well, Santana, but I should be out to the sunlight and try to heal," she said.

Santana remembered that the gift of Sight also came with the gift of healing, so she let Quinn go out into the sunlight above as she laid down the ice floor to retrieve the leg meat she had set aside for Quinn, licking it off and chewing on the bone contentedly. She thought about how fascinating was it for Quinn to be related to Bran, but pondering also why Bran was taken away from them so soon.

But, she put the sad thoughts aside, and chewed on the bone with a light heart. However, deep inside her wolf's guts, Santana could feel an odd foreboding, as he chewed on his kill and let Quinn be alone on the top of the glacier.

Less than half a mile from the ice cathedral, on the brow of the mountain, the people of Augsburg, mainly men and were led by Hugh were stealthily advancing through the snows. The thick, soft ice covered and muffled their noises. As they came over the mountain brow, they could see the young changeling standing on the ice field, eyes closed and mouth curving into a contented smile.


	12. Bloody Snow

Quinn gave Santana one final look as she bashed the ice again and emerged from the icy tomb below to the surface of the glacier. The day opened before here, a sweeping vision of the rocky crags, of the silvery mountaintops and Quinn could see the thin sliver of brown that was once the deer track she had traversed from the distance.

Quinn basked in the sunlight on top of the glacier. The sky was blue and there was no cloud in sight. She sighed, as she saw the other peaks of the lower mountains jut out from the expanse of the ice field. She felt as if there was someone who created everything, ever marvel she was seeing now and just standing there made Quinn feel as if she was part of it – she was part of something special.

She must have stood there for good two hours, cherishing the warmth that coursed through her body like an electric ripple. She could feel herself get nourished. Perhaps, it was more than any herb she had taken before.

A bird flew overhead, and suddenly, Quinn could feel a burst of elation, something inside her heart had fluttered. She had a family, at least, now she was closer to knowing who she really was, her family, and the meanings behind her dreams and nightmares.

She let the warm sunshine crawl underneath her skin. She couldn't have survived these past days without the help of the wolf. Quinn's brow furrowed. How she could understand the wolf was still a mystery to her. Maybe what Santana was telling her was true. That she had a gift, that she and her brother were just like Santana, touched by an invisible power and was given the gift of Sight.

She did not think too much about it right now. All that Quinn could feel was the glorious sensation, as if she had achieved something so good. It felt like walking into the dark cave or tunnel, only to find the light of day in the end of it – waiting for her.

She thought of what was beyond her. She reevaluated her options. She could go to Hiram in Kisav, and ask for help. That would be much better. She had no idea where the village Santana was talking about, and they way Santana had described the said village where the wolf had returned her brother, and perhaps also the village where she originated, well that was not so helpful.

When she thought about it, the old wooden village Santana had talked about did not have anything in connection to Lord Weston. Perhaps, she never really knew so much. It was more reason for her to continue her journey.

Her cropped golden hair was sticking out like an urchin from her head. They had grown spiky and sharp and very unruly during her stay inside the ice field. But she did not care. All she ever wanted to do was shout in glee and joy, for she had felt so free at the moment. She inhaled the crisp mountain air as if she was drinking water. Her spiky hair was thrown back to the wind this time, as a small breeze cut through the ice field. The wind drew it to her skin as if she was a flower opening up on a summer day.

In her joy, Quinn did not notice the men of Augsburg approach her standing spot on the ice field. In the snows, their tracks and their sounds were muffled. The men came across the brow of the mountain, and they sneaked behind Quinn. By the time Quinn had turned, they were already on her, carrying knives, hatchets, axes and pitchforks.

In their midst, Hugh stood, his eyes bloodshot, his back hunched painfully behind him. To Hugh, it had been a painful, hard pursuit, but he persisted, reaching as far as the ice field – because he had hated the changeling so much, and his fear of his wife.

To the other villagers of Augsburg, it was a task that needs to be done, whatever the costs are. The people who brought the dogs were forced to lead them back to the village, for the dogs were scared of the ice field. Only half of the original pursuing party had reached the ice field. The group consisted only the most prevailing and the strongest men of the village. The village had agreed to kill Quinn SkeinTale no matter what it costs.

"So, changeling," cried Hugh with spite. "You have escaped the snowstorms by some witchcraft," he accused.

"But you will not escape us now," cried one of the other shepherds. "We will make you pay for killing Samuel."

"What do you have to say ungrateful traitor? After Hugh and his wife had given you help all these years," hissed the village butcher, whose name was Abel. "You murderer."

"Lies," Quinn wailed furiously, her eyes glittering with contempt. Her gaze was fixed at Hugh, then she stared stonily at the other villagers. All her fear of Hugh and the other villagers had suddenly vanished, and all she ever wanted to do now was to stand up for herself. "Sarah is the murderer. The both of them are murderers. They stabbed Sam on the back and took his knife."

The villagers looked at each other, but Abel sprung up and moved forwards, making Quinn cower. Abel was a huge man, almost a giant and Quinn was no match for his boulder-sized body.

"And why would Sarah do that?" he hissed.

"So that you would think it was I who murdered him, and not Sarah. So you could hunt me!" she cried with fury in her throat.

"You ungrateful wretch! I saved you from the snows years ago, and this is what you pay us back? Lies? Why would we want you dead?" Hugh sneered and looked sharply at Quinn.

Quinn's hands traveled to her pockets, only to find that she had lost the parchment from Lord Weston. She had burnt it in the flames nights ago. All her proof was gone.

"Because of the Lord Weston's letter. Because he wanted to kill me, too. Because of his secret. That's why you wanted to kill me," Quinn swallowed thickly as suspicious and at the same time, shocked and curious eyes met her gaze.

"Lord Weston?" asked Abel.

"Wicked boy!" cried Hugh furiously. Quinn felt a terror run down Hugh's spine as he yelled at her. It was true. Hugh was terrified when Quinn had mentioned the Lord's name. "Talking of high lords and royals. You besmirch and slander even the high name of Lord Weston!" he gave a scornful look as he yelled loudly to hide his fear.

Hugh stepped up. "What is this talk about Lord Weston, boy?" he hissed. "What have such high folk's got to do with you?" he scornfully looked down on Quinn.

"Yes," Abel piped in. "You speak about this because you have seen Lord Weston's soldiers around these parts again, don't you? You heard them in the village square, didn't you? When that scarred soldier was talking about Lord Weston and Lady Frances."

As soon as Abel mention the name Frances, Quinn's back stiffened.

"The Lady Frances?" she asked, her body now deathly cold and her voice hollow.

"Lord Weston's wife," Abel answered. "This was how it gotten into your head, wasn't it?"

Quinn felt a yawning despair draped heavily over her. It was not Fran or Freida, but it was Frances. It was the name she had associated with the woman she held hands with when her parents left them. It was the woman who was looking taut and worried when Edmund was taken by wolves. It was the name she had associated with a young woman with golden hair. It was the name she had associated with her sister in her dreams.

This woman was Lord Weston's wife. Then Lord Weston was her brother-in-law. Could it really be? That her very own brothers and sisters would want her and her younger brother dead? Her very own kin, wanted to murder her. Quinn's legs became weak.

"Come back to Augsburg with us now, Quinn," Abel said silently. "You shall be fairly judged in trial, and we'll see truth in what you say, if there ever is truth in it."

Quinn thought of her time while she stayed with Hugh and Sarah. She barely see any fairness among humans, and she suddenly realized that one of the most terrible things in the world was not to be believed. But Quinn felt as meek as a lamb to slaughter.

"Please," Quinn drawled. The bitter revelation about her sister and her family was robbing her of all her will. "Those are all lies, Abel. Those are lies. Frank Evans will speak for me."

Hugh moved at Abel's side. "Oh no, Quinn. Frank will not speak for anyone ever again."

A strange chill crept through Quinn's spine. "What did you do to him?" she stood their, questioning. Her eyes were vehemently narrowed at the man who had accused her of murder. "You murdered him!" she snarled.

"No," Hugh shook his head. "No, Quinn...Frank fell from the cirques below."

"You're lying!" Quinn snarled as she backed away from them. "You murdered him!"

Hugh looked at her, a savage glint in his eyes shone. "I did not, Quinn. I am no murderer," he said and Quinn felt real tears scalding her very own eyelids. "We'll not hurt you, Quinn, as what Abel says. I give you my word. I give you the word of a human being."

Suddenly, Quinn felt a dull ache in her forehead and she heard Santana's voice. The wolf was growling in her mind. The wolf was speaking to her from its hiding place below the ice.

"Beware, Quinn. Don't trust him."

"Santana?"

"You'll not get down the village alive, Quinn," Santana growled. "I've touched his mind. It is filled with dark shadows," came the black wolf's thoughts. "He's had a horn dagger under his cloak, inside his left pocket. He intends to use it on you sooner than you think, when no one is watching, perhaps. So that he can silence you forever. Fight them, man cub."

Just then, Quinn saw Hugh's right hand hover over his left pocket. She thought about what she had done, to serve him and his wife, and she was filled with so much fury inside her.

"So, old man," she said in a rather quiet tone. "You'd murder me with your own horn dagger you had hidden under your cloak, inside your left pocket, as your wife had murdered Samuel, before I even return and tell the truth?"

Hugh paled and blanched, as the other villagers saw it. His face spoke the truth of it all. How had this girl known that he had a dagger hiding udner his cloak, how did she know about Sarah and Sam's murder? Was she really a changeling? Hugh suddenly felt the fear creep to him and his face was as pale as ash.

"Witchcraft!" he cried angrily. "We should silence him before he does anything more!" he had yelled loudly, but the villagers were to shocked and stunned at Quinn's words. Hugh lunged for Quinn, his dagger at hand, ready to stab her. But before he could strike and run her through, Hugh was knocked sideways by a leaping black shape.

Hugh had only had the chance to see the savage whiteness of wolf teeth as Santana's fangs tore through his throat, stifling Hugh's scream. The pain was short and it was not too much for Hugh, for he died instantly, but for Abel and the other villagers, it was one of the most horrific things they could see.

There they stood, side by side, Quinn and Santana. The wolf emerged from the ground to defend the child. None of the villagers could look directly at Quinn's eyes. They thought that Quinn was indeed a changeling.

"So, here you came, to hunt me down like a beast," Quinn spoke. "Even you, Abel," her stare grew cold as she tried to look into Abel's eyes, but Abel turned away.

"Go back to the village," she said to them. "Go back to the village and tell them I am innocent of crime, but I shall have no more of humans again, until I find my own people. And the truth."

With that, Quinn leaned to pat Santana's fur on the head. The hunters, who were trembling with fear at the sight of the wild, black wolf as well as the changeling girl, had backed away into the lower part of the glacier. The warmth under Quinn's palm felt comforting.

"Come, Santana. Let's be gone from this place and fulfill our destiny," Quinn said. "We have a harsh winter ahead of us," she whispered her thoughts. "And a long journey ahead of us."

The two of them walked higher up to the cairn of the mountaintop. At first, they limped, but as bearers of the gift of Sight, healing came quick to them and soon enough, Quinn and Santana are moving through the ice much faster, until they were running towards the harsh, wild winter ahead of them, as well as they were running into legends of the shepherds of Augsburg.


	13. Lord Weston

The great Lord Weston sat on a throne of carved oak, embellished with gold-wrought designs. He had heavy fur cloaks about him, keeping him warm. He was lazily looking at the warm fire that was burning in the hearth. An old hunting dog lay at his feet, and Lord Weston's face was cunning, smart and cruelly charming. He was listening to his soldier's report. His dark, black eyes flared at his soldier's words.

"You're sure about this, Draco?" he growled in silent anguish.

The soldier warily eyed Lord Weston's golden dagger that was clasped tightly on his rich leather belt. He was aware of his lord's flashes of anger and he knew too well what the messengers had suffered for their messages in these halls. His gaze moved upward to Lord Weston's leather tunic, and onto the red cross with yellow tongues appearing from its four right angles. It was insignia of the Holy Order of the Gray Griffins.

"Your lieutenant had failed to kill them, my lord. He did not manage to do so, because he died in a fall," Draco answered respectfully. "Master Edmund and Severus, your lieutenant had died in the snows, but she was saved by a shepherd."

Lord Weston had often wondered why his lieutenant had never returned from his errand, now he knew about it. His velvet-gloved left hand curled into a tight fist.

"What shepherd?"

Draco raised his dark-brown eyes. "An old man named Hugh. He had gotten her out of the snows and kept her as a servant child ever since then. He concealed her as a boy. That's why she went unnoticed, nut until the rumors began," the soldier looked at Lord Weston.

The rumors came as if they were a haunting dream to Lord Weston. His spies had brought rumors of a boy with golden hair, as old as Quinn would have been if she was alive. Rumors had it that the golden-haired changeling emerged from the snows seven or eight years from now near the distant village of Augsburg.

Lord Weston rose, his furs flowing about him. His soldier's frame swayed slightly on his boots, and he looked at his hunting dog. The big hunting dog just growled.

"This shepherd, he knew who she was?" Lord Weston asked.

"I think so, my lord. Maybe something about it," Draco answered.

"He should be off with his head," Lord Weston murmured grimly. "No doubt he wanted to blackmail me later, that's why he kept the secret...traitor," he hissed.

"Hugh is already dead, my lord," Draco said softly. "And when I sent our soldiers to question his wife, Sarah and his niece, Katherine, they both had disappeared into the snows."

Lord Weston raised his gloved hand, and snatched at the air, as if he was trying to catch something that was already lost.

"Damn it, man!" he hissed loudly. "But Quinn, did she speak to anyone of Castleweston?"

"No, my lord. But we have found an old woman, a witch, who was skilled in the herb laws, and we questioned her," Draco's cruel eyes twinkled as he told about the old woman, just like the way how Hugh's eyes twinkled when he talked of Frank Evans. The witch was dead, too.

"She had made a potion for Quinn to drink. It helped in holding off the girl's thoughts, and together with Hugh and Sarah, they invented a tale of goblins and fairies, making Quinn believe that she's a changeling," Draco said. "Quinn had lost her memories, my lord."

Lord Weston seemed to relax a little at his soldier's words. He leaned back on his chair.

"Strange. So strange. What about now, Draco?"

"I don't know, my lord. Except that the villagers of Augsburg are still hunting her. Or, a changeling boy, they still prefer it that way. It seemed that Quinn SkienTale was accused of murdering someone from the village. It seemed that Hugh had repented of his betrayal and kindness and was trying to do away with her."

"Perhaps he had a change of heart," Lord Weston's eyes glittered. "Because he knew that Quinn had known something about her past, and Quinn had known that he had kept it away from her. Where is that damned child now?" he growled.

Draco's eyes shone like jewels in the firelight again. "My lord, there have been tales about the changeling who walked upon the snowy mountains." Draco paused fearfully, as the memories of his night in Augsburg went back to him. He was one of the soldiers who met Quinn as she was escaping. He was so close to her, and yet...he guiltily looked at the dagger tucked under Lord Weston's belt. Lord Weston must never know it.

"But, Quinn is not alone, my lord."

"Are there traitors everywhere?" Lord Weston growled. "Who is betraying me, Draco?"

"Not someone, my lord...but, something. A wild animal."

"What fairytales are you talking about, now, Draco?" Lord Weston's hard, dark eyes turned to Draco in disbelief. "What wild animal?"

"A wolf, my lord. A lone black wolf."

The look on Lord Weston's full of wonder and fear at the same time. His eyes were dark and fierce, but it was almost as if Lord Weston had seen it with foreknowledge. Draco thought that Lord Weston would pull his dagger out and finish him off.

"I think it's just a peasant's superstition, my lord. But, the rumor has it, my lord, that the wolf had torn out Hugh's throat in defense of Quinn."

Dark thoughts were racing through Lord Weston's mind. He had known it. But because of his skill as a soldier and his cunning ways of being a politician, Lord Weston knew how to keep his thoughts concealed in the shadows of his dark mind. He lifted his eyes to Draco again.

"Very well, you've done well by bringing me this news. Now tell me of the vassals and of the notorious Turkish talibans," Lord Weston sat back on his chair.

"The Turks press on our southern lands, my lord. The vassals in the north, they're not a threat to Castleweston. Blood is soiled on the land up north. Your vassals are starting to lose hope. Soon enough, they would crack and submit themselves to you," Draco said. "Your elder half-brother, the Earl of Coronet had raised the turrets of his castle up in the southeast as he marches against the Turks. The King William is doing the same, my lord."

"Very well, then so shall I rise my own banners as well," Lord Weston said. "We shall rise it by King William's eyes, and in my half-brother's thinking. When King William fails in front of his people against the Turks, it's our time to play the both of them off to our favor," Lord Weston said.

The monarch felt angry as he spoke of King William, for if King William would find out what had really happened in these halls, Lord Weston knew there would be a terrible price to pay. And Lord Weston had never trusted his elder half-brother, though they were raised as brothers. He had grown bitterly against him in secret, even if they were both under the membership of the Order of the Griffin. They were sworn to protect the King and the Church and the lands that were under the two.

Lord Weston nervously thought about the holy oaths that he took in front of the high officials of the Order. He shuddered at the thought of the five things that he had sworn to defend – the protection of the earth, the nurturing of peace, the support of the downtrodden, the defense of the feminine and the pursuit of knowledge. These were the oaths he had sworn to defend, and had mired with blood.

"And your orders, my lord?" asked Draco.

"Hunt SkienTale down," Lord Weston answered without missing a beat. "SkeinTale must not survive. Anyone who had heard of this, or known about her and live to tell it, you shall die by my own hand, Draco. Bring me SkeinTale's head."

Draco's eyes were grave as he listened.

"The King must not know of this, Draco. What would the King do when he finds out about this? Castleweston may not a rival kingdom from his, but there's a need for law in this land. And we have broken that law."

Draco nodded.

"And don't tell anyone about this, Draco, and you shall be rewarded," Lord Weston waved his hand. "Now, get out."

Draco bowed deeply and turned his heels. He left the great hall of the castle and went outside the room. Once alone, Lord Weston stood up, and thought of Draco's reward. It came in the shape of a knife stabbed in Draco's back.


	14. The Griffin

Lord Weston looked out into the night, Draco had just left, and he had thought that Draco had known too much already. He must die, once he kills Quinn, of course. Sarah and Katherine must be silenced, too.

His thoughts went back to the wolves again and he looked at the tapestry on the wall. It was wrought with mythical wolves, Tor and Fenris. And now, another wolf was meddling into his life again, and was helping Quinn Fabray, who was spared from death by the snows because of a shepherd. Lord Weston's hands clenched into tight fists in anger.

"Lord Weston, my dearest," a soft voice came up behind him, startling the monarch.

He started and turned around, and immediately, Lord Weston's dark face became a mask of charm and warmth and sweetness. In front of her was a woman, young and fresh, probably twenty-four or twenty-five. She had long blonde hair, tied into a single braid and was coming down her hips. She had full lips, hazel-colored eyes and thin, subtle, pink lips. It was the same girl Quinn had seen so dimly in her dreams. She was from the side of the room, hidden behind the shadows of the heavy draperies, and she seemed to come out of nowhere.

"Frannie, you startled me," Lord Weston said, his voice warm and soft – so opposite to the tone he had used with Draco earlier.

"I crept up the secret stairs," Frannie informed her husband. "When I heard the footsteps receding I knew it was safe for me to come."

Lord Weston smiled warmly. "Must you sneak on me like that, my love? I'll have it sealed."

Frannie's eyes teared up and were full of sadness."But, my lord, don't you want me to visit you?"

Lord Weston's once-dark and murderous eyes turned soft...even if it was faked. He moved to cradle the blonde woman in his arms. "It's not that way, my lady. It's just that, some others may use the secret stairs for darker purposes. That's all I meant. It's a dark world."

Lady Frances' eyes grew dim with sadness. She just knew how dark the world was. She looked out into the night sky as Lord Weston held her hand. "How is Stefan?"

"He's been very fine, my lord," the woman's eyes grew reproachful. "You said you'd visit us this afternoon."

Lord Weston's eyes grew apologetic. "Forgive me again, my love," he laid his hand on his wife's shoulders lovingly. "War comes and the Turks press on again. The vassals beyond the forest don't do anything much, but I am trying to keep the castle safe from them. I am doing everything to keep peace in the land, and that we are safe from the wars. King William might order to build us bridges and churches."

"Shall there be fighting among the vassals, my lord?" Lady Frances asked.

"I doubt it. The vassals are running out of food and the blacksmiths were gone," Lord Weston replied. There was a flicker of sadness in the woman's eyes, but it was replaced with warmth when Lord Weston looked up at her again.

"Stefan misses your visits so," Lady Frances sighed. "He's been asking so much about fighting and he's been asking me of when you will teach him to use a sword."

"He's still too young for that, Frances," Lord Weston looked at his wife as he forced a smile. "I'll teach him sometime soon, for he will be lord of this castle years from now, but for now, we shall keep it guarded for him."

The howl of a wolf ripped through the night. Lord Weston looked beyond the darkness of the forest as the dark thoughts seized him again. When he had heard of the tale of Quinn and the lone black wolf for the first time, a chill ran down his spine. Frances' little brother had been snatched by a wolf before, and Quinn walked with a wolf now, and if he's right, Quinn would be searching for the truth. A truth that shouldn't be revealed. A truth that should have died with the two younger Fabrays in the snowstorms eight years ago, just like how it died with the elder Fabrays by his own hand.

He's pretty certain that a strange destiny had been working itself out again. Lord Weston looked at the tapestry of a wolf again, and just by staring at it, Lord Weston could feel a chill run down his spine. He pulled his furs about him closely, as if to ward off the penetrating cold. He turned to his wife.

"Go my darling," he said. "I shall be in our chambers by the time the belfries ring their bells tonight. I'll be there soon enough, but now I must have matters to attend to. And prayer to do. And bring Argen. It would be a delight for Stefan to play with the hunting dog."

Lady Frances walked up to Lord Weston and pecked him lovingly on the lips. Then she turned to the dog and called his name.

"Come, Argen," Lady Frances said. The dog followed obediently as the woman swept out of the room.

Lord Weston stared at the tapestry. A soft breeze seemed to blow its hem and shook the tapestry a little. He needs to know what the destiny was supposed to be about. He needs to know if Quinn was a threat to him. And he knew it was time to talk to _her_ again. Once he made sure he was alone, Lord Weston strode towards the tapestry and pulled it aside, revealing a small, secret passageway behind it. In the ancient castle, there were so much secret passageways and secret rooms and compartments. The one Lady Frances had gone up to was one of the many that winded and wormed it way through the castle. But this passageway was the most secret of all.

The small passageway ended in a small bare room, but Lord Weston knew that there was another secret room through the room. Lord Weston had often came here to think and plan, but he had other matters at hand. He took out a small key from under the hilt of his dagger and inserted it to a small hole next to the oil torch that had been unlit for years, only now that the lord had lit it up.

For a few moments, nothing had happened, but after a few beats, there seemed to be a soft humming sound, like some stone clockwork coming to life. The stone wall in the farther end backed away, revealing a small stair that went downwards. Lord Weston took the oil torch, and went below.

The room below was almost as barren as the upper room, except for the smell of underground water. Lord Weston lit a few candles, bathing the whole room with a ghostly glow. He paused fearfully. In the center of the room was a stone, hollowed out in the middle and it was half-filled with water. He gazed into the water and thought about _her_. He had stood here years before.

He pulled off the glove of his right hand. In the middle of his palm, was a deep, ugly scar that had long healed. He plucked out the dagger from his belt, then he hesitated. He's fearful of what might come. But he proceeded, and he had made a second cut on the scar, opening the tender skin.

He had observed the rite long ago, in the lands beyond the forest, and he had hoped it would work now. He sucked on his palm, and then he squeezed his palm above the unholy stone. The first drop of blood went murky, and Lord Weston squeezed harder. The second drop of blood dropped to the water and it seemed to move. The third dropped and the water seemed to swirl and change altogether.

"Come, by the powers beyond the sight of men, I summon you..." Lord Weston said like a fallen priest. The water had a fiendish glow and a face appeared in the water. It wasn't a human face, but an animal's – a she-wolf. The she-wolf looked old, but her eyes were still as vicious as ever. Facial scars littered her face, and she had a scarred ear. She was growling, but Lord Weston could hear her words in his mind.

* * *

Farther north from Castleweston, a cloister stood on the side of the hill. It was no more than a large house with a yard in the middle, hidden from prying eyes by large redwoods, beeches and several other trees. In a not so big room inside the cloister, a knight sat on a mahogany throne, his helm sitting by his side, his face hidden by the shadows of the flickering light from the clandestine above.

Another knight, younger and barely a man, was kneeling in front of the Knight. The Knight's eyes were filled with sadness and longing, and he clutched his left arm painfully. He had carried himself like a king, and he had an air about him that was regal. But he was now thinking of how he had failed his duties and his family in the lands south of where he was standing, south beyond the forest.

"Is there any more news, Sir Gael?" he asked sadly. His voice was deep and passionate.

The young knight named Gael dipped his head low as his master addressed him. "We are sending out more riders, Sir."

"And you believe the rumors?" the Knight asked again.

"Some," the knight answered. "We shall search people who knew of it."

The Knight winced, as he felt a sharp pain run down his arm. "And the tale of the wolf? Tell me about it."

"That sounds like it was a tale made by the child," Sir Gael said, as he shrugged. "But, I don't know."

"Yes. And yet..." the Knight trailed off. The story of the girl and the wolf had been a strange one, but the Knight had a strong feeling that it was true. Like Lord Weston, the rumor had come to him like a vision. He stood up and leaned out the window, and out into the night. Howls of wolves called them like shadowless breezes in the dark.

"What will you do?" Sir Gael asked the Knight respectfully.

"Do? We must keep looking," the Knight answered flat out. He looked out to the starless night, as the snows fell across the land. "We must keep looking at all costs."

Sir Gael looked at the Knight's finely worked jerkin. He wore the same grandeur like Lord Weston, and he had a dagger beneath his belt. It was emblazon like Lord Weston's has been, and the young knight's eyes traveled to the cross that was hanging on the Knight's tunic. Unlike Lord Weston's insignia, beneath the red cross, instead with having yellow flames like tongues, the Knight's was an animal, a head of an eagle with a body of a lion. It was curled up in such a way that its tail is on its mouth. It had two enormous wings and sharp talons. Its mouth was resembling to shout a battle cry. Only the secret leader of bore that insignia. It was the griffin.


	15. Belladonna

"Why have you called me again, human?" the wolf hissed. "Why have you summoned me again, from the anguished regions of the Red Meadow? Where we wait painfully until we can cross to the Beyond, we echoes of the past."

"I summoned you once, she-wolf, when my brother-in-law was snatched by wolves, and thus I learned about the powers of the sights beyond men. Now, I awoke you, for another had meddled with the affairs of humans."

"Another one?" the she-wolf's eyes glimmered as her ears twitched.

"Another wolf. A black loner," Lord Weston said, craning his neck to the waters, as if the closeness would bring more power to his rite. The wolf leaned forwards, too, as if waiting for Lord Weston to speak more.

The wolf's eyes were like moons, glowing and tearing into Lord Weston's soul. For so long, she had lain in the Red Meadows, tormented and restless. Only once before, she had been woken by this man, using the dark arts Lord Weston had learned from men in the lands beyond Castleweston's forests. It was the power of blood and water and words that brought the wolf back from the Red Meadows. She came back as a vision in the unholy water at the stone.

"Santana," hissed the she-wolf's thoughts. It was Santana's hated aunt speaking with Lord Weston in the water. And the said wolf was the cause of so much darkness and death in Santana's life many years ago. "It's Santana. I am sure of it."

"Santana?" Lord Weston asked.

"My little niece," said the she-wolf. "She's the mate of Brittany, the white wolf that you...I told you of. She too has the powers of the Sight, and I used to command her."

"But what could a wolf want with a human?" asked Lord Weston"s wondering mind. "Your niece walks with a human now, a little girl."

"By the shadows in your eyes, human, this girl the wolf travels with, I see it is more than just any human," the cunning thoughts of the wolf echoed through his mind. "Has it not some great destiny?"

Lord Weston's eyes narrowed angrily, but he had held his tongue.

"But how can I know what my little niece wants?" Belladonna's growl went on. "What do I really see in the anguished regions of the Red Meadow? I am not of flesh and blood, human, but of nightmares and dreams. I am of myth and legends, not of the physical reality."

"But when you lived, wolf, you said you had communicated with the dead," Lord Weston's thoughts rushed angrily, for Lord Weston, in spite of the death he had caused and the even if he was a ruthless warrior, he had also feared death. Above all things, Lord Weston was afraid to die and he was more afraid of what comes after it. "You summoned them from the dead."

"The Searchers," hissed Belladonna's thoughts. She had remembered the horrible night when she had used a Summoning Howl to call an army or spectral wolves from the dead. It opened the Pathways from the dead to the living world, allowing the spectral wolves to fight the rebel wolves, including Brittany's pack. "Yes, they came at my calling, indeed, human."

"Then, the two worlds could communicate. Physically, even as we do now. Could you send those Searchers to..."

"No," Belladonna snapped. "I was a living wolf then, a living wolf who was touched by the sight. And a legend was being fulfilled. Brittany's powers had sealed the Pathways shut and no one can call from your side."

"But if I find the wolf, I can find the girl. The one they call a changeling. I must find this black wolf."

"But what is all of this for me, human? I can see nothing from here, unless you call me with blood and water. I am like one wolf blinded forever."

"But I reside in the land of the living, wolf," Lord Weston's thought said. "Teach me the gift. Teach me of the Sight."

"The Sight is a gift of the animals, human," Belladonna paused. "Yet as what Santana's mate had showed us all up in the lair that I have, man is also an animal."

Lord Weston nodded gravely, remembering the dream he had when Edmund was snatched away by the wolves. He had been standing among ancient stones and temples and he felt as if he had seen the history of the world. All about him were wild animals, but one animal struck him most. It looked like a man, only a bit more crude, and he saw it descending from the trees. And ever since that dream, Lord Weston had believed that the stories about man, about the man in the stories of his childhood, that they were as false as fairies and of changelings and goblins and mermaids. Man, too was like everything around him – an animal.

"Yes, Belladonna," Lord Weston nodded gravely. "Man too is an animal, that's why he had to act like one. Kill like an animal, behave like a beast."

The she-wolf's eyes narrowed. "Very well, human. We'll see what we can teach you. Summon my spirit in the water with blood, and warm my veins that were lost for a time, and make me remember what I am not. I will instruct you."

Lord Weston smiled grimly.

"In return, you shall tell me of the living world. You shall tell me of the morning air, the rushing of the mountain rivers, the swooping of the eagle and the falcon. The smell of fresh blood in the morning," Belladonna's thoughts rushed by. The she-wolf had an expression that if she were human, it could only be described as a smile.

"Brittany has long gone to the Beyond. Perhaps she sits now with Tor and Fenris, while I myself had suffered here in the Red Meadow," she said said. She was wondering at the mystery of it, like one tormented who was speaking of a mythical good she can never comprehend. "She who thought and taught animals that all must be free. She who stopped me from my plans, and she who stopped the child's power. Very well, then Brittany. Perhaps, we'll have to see this again."

But even as Belladonna had said it, her thoughts became faded in Lord Weston's mind. He quickly squeezed his wounded palm over the water again, making the blood drip from the congealing seal of blood. He muttered dark words as the blood mixed with the water. Soon, the she-wolf's muzzle cleared again.

"And Santana, her dark mate," the wolf growled in struggle. "She was mine once, human and she was in the shadows. I used to torment her heart and make her kill in my command. Santana has a dark heart, human. And she is closer to the shadows than she thought, or she thought she knew. She's closer to you, than to the girl she travels with."

Lord Weston smiled. "Then we should track them both, the wolf and the girl. Track them both and kill them."

"You ask too much of spirits, human," came Belladonna's mind. "But I shall tell you of Santana's dark heart. I shall tell you of her true nature, human, so you can use it to trap her with. And perhaps, we can teach the world the real power of myths."

"Myths?" Lord Weston asked.

"Not goblins or fairies or silly vampires," the wolf said. "Not werewolves, or stories to scare children and wolf cubs, or fables to frighten the foolish and cowards with threat of evil, but the power that lives and exists beyond these stories. This power makes them strong indeed, and makes these stories live in nightmares and in sleep. This power weaves these nightmares into the very fabrics of consciousness. This power of hate and love," the wolf snarled.

Lord Weston shuddered. Even in his nature, Lord Weston wished to be away from this place of cold death, back into Lady Frances' loving arms. Touching and loving and living.

"We have a pact then, she-wolf," Lord Weston said softly. "I shall bring you more blood."

"A pact?" there was a tone of anger in Belladonna's mind. For a barren wolf that she was, incapable of raising a family she can love and protect, she had once longed to be included in Alonzo and Maribel's pack, and protect the young cubs, Brittany and Santana, and all the other younger cubs, to join with them, hunt with them and protect them. The wolf's heart ached. But, soon as it was there, the wolf's mind seemed to darken as she kept those thoughts away.

"Very well, then, human," the wolf growled. "We have a pact, indeed. So be warned, a pact should never be broken."


	16. Santana's Bloodlust

Quinn looked up the mountain's cairn above. "We're close," she said, a white puff of air escaped through her mouth. "To the valley where Frank has told me of. The valley of Kisav. The village won't be far from there."

She went to poke at the dying embers at the mouth of the cave where she and the wolf had just spent the night. It had been two cold months that passed since she and the wolf had ran away from the villagers of Augsburg from the ice field. And together, the wolf and the girl climbed higher up to the mountains, fighting through the swelling snows, but also enjoying the peace of the clear, crisp winter mornings. They can see the cairn, and beyond that should be the valley.

The mountain trail had been difficult. Sometimes, Quinn had to pause for rest, and when she did so, she would look out into the expanse of the snowy mountains and think about her minuteness in the world.

"Are you sure we have to visit this fire weilder?" the wolf asked.

Santana growled at the strangeness of the conversation. She had always known that using the Sight, she could look into the minds of animals, but it was rare with humans. It was even more rare to talk with them. But with Quinn, it seemed to Santana that Quinn was a growling wolf, or she was a chattering human. These things had astounded and terrified the wolf's soul. She knew the voice in the cave before had been real.

She had learned that the power of the Sight could only come at times of great necessity and pressure, and how it did not seem to work at some distance. But, perhaps, being trapped together under the ice cave two months ago had brought it upon her and Quinn. But Santana knew in her heart it was beyond that.

"I think so," Quinn shrugged. "If we are to journey to Lord Weston's castle. I need help, and better clothes. Besides, we also need to ask for directions. I never went beyond five miles beyond Augsburg, Santana. Not until now. I don't even have any idea which way will we go to reach Lord Weston's castle. And this winter is too dangerous."

Quinn was far from sure of their journey. As she fed the fire with kindling, she thought about things again. If Lord Weston and Lady Frances would be of her kin, why would they want her to be killed? Did she have anything that made them angry at her? Yet, there was also another more darker mystery to her: the survival of nature depended on her survival. What could that mean?

She sought comfort at the fires, but all she saw were the flames dancing. Fire had brought her warmth over the freezing weeks, and it had comforted the wolf, too. She had lost her pack in the ice, but she had the pyrites and flints and Frank's knife with her. Santana had also started to hunt for the both of them.

With the fire, Quinn cooked the meat from Santana had brought from her hunts, and Santana had grown used to the heat and the flame. And although the wolf did not really understand its nature, the wolf came to fear fire even less and less.

Sometimes, it made Santana feel guilty, sitting there, and warmed by the fire, for the wild wolf sensed that she was being touched by the tameness that once visited men's dogs. To the wolf, the tameness made them weak and lazy or it robbed them of their freedom.

Yet out there in the snows, Santana had insisted in herself that living with Quinn in the wild was different to living with people in their wooden dens. She kept on reassuring herself about it. Their nights were lit by the stars and the moon, not by the oil lamps that humans use to light their strange homes. They drank not from human cups, but from pools and streams and springs. They ate meat fresh from the kill, even if Quinn insists on cooking her own meat. The roof of their home was the endless sky, and their walls were the rocks and slopes and hills, and the bed where they lay was the living earth itself.

"We must be careful now, Quinn," Santana said. "The men we saw yesterday, they were marching, like your kind always do. They were warriors, I think. I've seen what they can do to one another. It's a terrible thing when the bloodlust grips them."

"You're right," Quinn answered. But another thought came to her – what was it like to be a warrior, free of fear. She thought about the people with great destinies and realized they had soldiers at their backs. But she, she had nothing but a stolen coat, a knife given to her, a couple of stones to start a fire and a strange, wild wolf by her side.

Although she was grateful to Santana and owed the wolf her life, she had not forgotten how Santana had snapped at her on the ice bridge, inside the ice cathedral and how the wolf had killed Hugh on the ice field. Often in the night, when she awoke from her sleep, she would look fearfully at the wolf lying next to her and wondered if Santana might suddenly turn on her too with her teeth. When Quinn was with Santana, she could feel Santana's power and anger lurking beneath the surface of the wolf. It was a spirit once vital, and even domineering.

At times, as they journeyed, Santana could sense her own wild instincts begin to rise uncontrollably, too, until she had to recall the vision her mate had brought her in the cave when the first snows came. She then could remember that Quinn was no ordinary human.

"So we go, man cub?" Santana asked Quinn as she stood up.

Quinn hesitated and looked out into the vast expanse of the mountains. "After breakfast, I think."

Santana's eyes glinted as she licked her paw cheerlessly. The wound she had before she met Quinn had long healed, for three nights after the ice field, Santana had let Quinn approach her. Santana had let Quinn take a look on the wound, and Quinn fetched herbs for the wolf's leg and made the wolf a poultice. Quinn had secured it with a torn cloth from her shirt. Of course, the poultice fell off Santana's legs a few days after, but it had helped in the healing of the wolf's cut. It made Santana wonder more about these humans.

"We are united by the Sight, Quinn. But I cannot walk among you, I am of the wild, and I must stay that way," Santana said suddenly. "Your kind fears me."

Quinn remembered her days in Augsburg. She recalled the looks of the villagers threw at her. She could exactly recall how the people of Augsburg had feared her as a changeling. She realized that they both knew what was it like to be an outcast.

"But you'll stay near me, Santana?" she asked, a sudden flicker of fear ran across her hazel eyes.

"I will, man cub."

Quinn sighed gratefully. With Frank dead and Kathryn gone, she had felt more alone than she ever did. All those people in her dreams, for some reason or another, they had failed to protect her. And it made Quinn feel worthless. But at least, Santana was on her side.

"Then we'll find Hiram after breakfast," she said more firmly. "And ask him of what he knows about the world, and of Lord Weston, too."

She looked at Santana guiltily. "Besides, it would be a very good thing to sleep in a barn. And it will be an easier journey towards the castle when the snows melt."

Santana was beyond sick of the idea of human homes, but still, she looked at Quinn. "Very well, then. Even if it would be dangerous for me, we shall find Hiram, and then I must stay in the shadows."

Quinn smiled, and she took her cooked share of Santana's hunt. The two of them ate their breakfast and after doing so, they prodded into the cairn of the mountain.

But the cairn was farther than it seemed, and in the afternoon, a blizzard came upon them, so Santana and Quinn were forced to seek shelter in a small cave. Quinn fell asleep through the night, and when she woke up the next day, she found the wolf gone and she decided to take a walk through the snows. Soon, she found herself in the middle of a silver birch forest. She walked through the silver trees, as the light from the sun reflected in the snows and the barks of the trees. She seemed to walk for an age, and she felt as if she really was a fairy child.

Suddenly, there was a sound of water guttering out, like a small stream and then it was followed with a loud yelp. Quinn came into a clearing, and there stood Santana. A small buck lay beneath the wolf's forepaws and blood was tainting the white snow with crimson.

Quinn looked on with horror, as she saw Santana sating her hunger. She backed away quietly, but she stepped on a dead branch and Santana swung her head towards Quinn, her eyes were glinting with savage wildness.

For a moment, Quinn had thought that the Santana she knew was a different Santana she's seeing now. There seemed to be bloodlust in the wolf's eyes. Santana snarled angrily at Quinn, almost ready to pounce on her and kill her.


	17. Wolf Trails

"Beware, human," came Santana's growling voice. " For the bloodlust is on me."

Quinn backed away farther, so that she, until her back pressed against the trunk of the birches. Santana had jumped off the deer and padded on the snow towards Quinn. The hazel-eyed blonde girl's heart heaved up and down as fear gripped her.

"But it is so ugly, Santana," she reasoned out. She was shuddering.

"Ugly?" the wolf questioned. "But I am a wolf, I live by the chase. I must eat. It is natural."

"You're right, Santana," Quinn said in a defeated tone.

"Are you horrified, man cub?" the wolf asked.

"I..."

There was a sadness that weighed down the wolf's heart, making Quinn feel sad about it, too. A sad realization came to her. The world isn't dangerous because of the fairies and the goblins and vampires and anything that inflicts fear into the hearts of men. It is scary and dangerous because of this reality. This reality about nature was far more terrible than anything Quinn has ever seen.

The bloodlust that seemed to be lurking beneath Santana's eyes were fading away now, as the wolf padded continuously towards Quinn. Finally, Quinn knelt in front of the wolf.

"Is this the wild, Santana?" she said, shaking terribly in fear as her back pushed against the lovely silver birch. "Is this what it really is?" she almost wished she was back in Augsburg.

"You do this, too, Quinn. You are an animal and you do this. You know that," the wolf said.

"But, I cannot do this, Santana. I can't do something like this. I kill, but not like this..." she said.

"Could you not, human?" the wolf questioned. "I have seen you and your power. I have seen humans like you behave worse than us. I have seen man do things which are far more horrible than the fighting wolf who killed another animal for food," the wolf paused.

"Man too, is an animal, Quinn."

Quinn started, and she realized the meaning of the wolf's words. Her eyes glistened with tears as she remembered all that she had in Augsburg. Hugh, Sarah...suddenly, the whole world seemed to be a world of the changelings again. Her eyes glistened with tears.

"Come, Quinn," Santana coaxed. "I have to show you something."

Santana turned slowly, and with a yelp she bounded through the snow. She had hesitated at first, and then the wolf looked back at her.

"Come and see, man cub," Santana said.

Quinn nervously walked past the dead kill. Santana was waiting for her by a bush, and she had said in a hushed thought to Quinn.

"You must stay hidden. We must not disturb them."

There was such tenderness in Santana's dark personality that Quinn wondered what was it she wanted to show her. Santana's muzzle was sharply pointed to the far side of the bank of the river. Her heart quickened when she saw what the wolf was staring at. Two large wolves were lying on the snow, and there were several little cubs bounding and leaping across the snow. They were tumbling across one another.

One of the cubs ventured farther into the water. It was so small, and innocent and artless that, Quinn thought it was beautiful. It was the beauty of the world.

"Why don't you approach them, Santana?"

The wolf did not tear away her eyes at the pack. "I have left my pack, long ago, man cub. There's no pack for a Kerl."

The wolf cubs were sliding over the snow, yelping and fake-fighting together. The farthest cub was having his own fill of fun on the slick ice on the pond, his paws sliding over the ice. It bounded to the ice, and landed with a painless landing. Suddenly, the cub on the snow looked at Quinn, and she could feel a tug at her heartstrings.

"And you say it's ugly, Quinn?" Santana asked.

"No, Santana. You were right. It's beautiful."

"Perhaps, you're more than just an animal, Quinn. You have something else in you," Santana started to say, remembering the vision she had when the snows first came. "Something else, I cannot fathom."

The cubs were back at the yelping and jumping over the snow. Quinn and Santana kept on watching the wolves opposite the river. Quinn could not understand what the wolves were speaking of, but Santana kept her hears into the conversation of the pack.

"Bran, get over here!" the alpha female of the pack growled. "That mad Kerl must still be about in the woods, the one that walks with the girl."

The little cub wasn't listening to the alpha female. It as caught up into its little adventure. The alpha female called again.

"And Brag, don't pay near the water. Wolves fear nothing so much as -"

"Hush," the alpha male hushed the alpha female. "Do not fill the cub with fear. Teach him to be strong."

* * *

Quinn and Santana traveled through the evening. They took shelter under the cover of pines and started off early before the break of dawn. The valley of Kisav was already in view as they stood in the brow of the mountain. There was an abandoned church near the outskirts of the woods. Quinn looked at the valley with satisfaction. For months of staying in the mountaintops, and she felt good thinking that she would be able to walk with humans again. It stirred something in her.

Santana was sitting beside her, but she wasn't looking down the valley. Instead, Santana was staring out into the sky, to a trail of stars that dotted the night. The wolf was gazing at a million little lights. The the wolf was gazing up to the gigantic sweep of the Milky Way.

"Santana?" Quinn called as she peered at the wolf, and wondered why the stars seemed so close. She felt so dizzy and so small as she threw her head back against the starry night.

"We call it the Wolf Trail, man cub," Santana said. She often wondered at the stories told about the Wolf Trail. She knew how just dangerous the stories were, but she still liked the stories about the million lights that lighted up the sky.

"The pathway between the Living and the Beyond," Santana continued on.

"Heaven," Quinn said. She had remembered her days when she would sneak up into the old church of Augsburg and listen to the priest as he made his sermons.

"Isn't Heaven just a story, Santana?" Quinn asked the wolf beside her. Too many lies had surrounded her changeling past.

"Perhaps," the wolf said. "Perhaps not."

The two friends gazed at the immense stretch of the Milky Way above them. They stood wondering, thinking if the tale about Heaven was just a tale, and just that...or were they just in a fable themselves, as they walk around and look for answers?

They walked side by side, as the Wolf Trail had faded behind them. They sloped down into the valley, where humans lived. As they passed through the abandoned church in the outskirt of the village, she noticed that the church was left to decay. Below the church was another woodland.

They came across a smaller part of the forest, and Quinn and Santana walked some more. Light streamed from the clearing up ahead. Standing by the edge of the forest was a big oak, its branches spread wide. Beyond the clearing, on its other side, stood a small cottage with a big barn beside it. Farther up next to the house was a smaller cottage with a large chimney. It had smoke coming out of it.

There was a faint '_tink tink tink'_ coming from the smaller cottage. It was the sound of metal being hammered. Quinn was sure it was the blacksmith.

Santana hung back behind the darkness of the woods, her muzzle pressed forwards. Her eyes were cocked sharply as she looked out for danger.

"I shall go now, Santana. And while I am gone, please stay close," Quinn muttered and held Santana's head under her palm. "Stay close."

"I promise, man cub," Santana growled. She's torn from the girl's departure. "And while you are gone, I shall look for the Guardians, and the Helpers. But do not tell anyone about me, Quinn. Men fear me."

"I won't."

"Keep watch of yourself," Santana growled.

"I promise," Quinn smiled. She then stepped resolutely out into the light. She left the woods behind her, with the wolf at her back. Santana wanted to follow her, but she knew she could not.

Suddenly, Santana swung her head. She could feel that someone was watching their parting. She looked from side to side, and then she caught movement in the underbrush. Then she realized and she was so sure of it. She's certain someone was following them in the forest now.


	18. Kisav

Quinn was out in the open now. She looked nervously looked back into the darkness of the woods, and for a moment, the thought of running back to Santana flashed through her mind. But she might as well go on now. As she approached the blacksmith's small cottage, where the sounds came, and realized, it was his forge. Then another realization dawned on her. She must be looking terrible. She's spent months in the wild and never had a chance to groom herself as a person does. She might as well think of a story, half a lie, at least, to explain how she had managed to survive the snows and the bitter wind.

She approached the doorway of the forge, and saw a powerful man with black hair hammering a piece of metal. His sleeves were rolled up on his forearms, revealing strong hands, and a fighter's form. The sturdy smith was intent on his job, but when he noticed a shadow on the floor, he looked up.

"Well, hello, lad," he smiled as he looked up from his anvil.

Quinn started to answer, but she realized she hadn't spoken a human word two or three months ago. She had been in the wild for so long she's starting to lose her speech. She remembered what Frank Evans had told her, about how the truth is her best ally.

"Sir, but you mistake me for a lad. I am a girl, though it is safer to travel alone if I dress like a boy," she said.

The blacksmith's eyes glittered with interest. He put down his hammer and the blade he was forging. He stepped forwards and wiped his dirty hands on a piece of cloth. The soot that caked his figners stuck onto the cloth.

"Well, a pretty girl indeed, yet you clothe yourself like a vagabond, or a beggar. But, what you said of the safety around these forests and in these dire times of war, well, they were true. Who do you seek here?"

"You, sir. If you are the blacksmith Hiram," Quinn boldly said.

"I am."

"Frank Evans sent me," Quinn said.

Hiram's face broke into a wild, delighted smile. He took off his soot-cloaked apron and smiled at Quinn again. "Ah, my dear friend Ivan. How is he?"

Quinn swallowed thickly on her throat. "He...he's dead."

Hiram's head dropped sadly. Although, Quinn could see in his intelligent face that there was just resignation and sadness in his eyes. The winter had been tough, and life in the country had been difficult, but still...

"How is my boy Sam?" he said softly. "How is he holding up the loss?"

"He's..he's dead, too. I am so sorry," Quinn blurted out. The tears started to prick on her eyes again, but she swallowed hard and held them back.

"Both of them?" Hiram's eyebrows knitted together. Quinn nodded sadly. She just knew how hard it must have been for Hiram. Frank and Sam were the only ones left in the world, to live together, and to see in Hiram's eyes, it looked like Hiram had been an old friend of the Evans'.

"Well, let me clean up here," Hiram said. "Over breakfast, you should tell me of your strange journey and of my poor friends."

"Oh, thank you, sir," Quinn smiled. "And sir, Frank had wanted you to have this," she handed out Frank's knife.

"It's his knife," Hiram smiled and took it from Quinn. "He did send you. Thank you," he smiled and strode towards a small washbasin on the corner of the forge. "What's your name, child?"

"Quinn, sir. Some call me Quinn SkeinTale, others call me Quinn Fabray."

"Well, anyone that Frank has trusted is welcome to our humble home," Hiram smiled without looking at Quinn. He had caught motion in the trees, and two golden eyes peeking out of the underbrush and craned his head to see it clearly. The two golden eyes were lost into the dark forest.

"You travel alone, you say?" Hiram asked curtly as he rubbed the grime out of his fingers.

"Yes, sir. I do, why?" Quinn had reddened a little as she lied, her heartbeat grew a notch quicker.

Hiram's keen eyes were still searching the trees. But the eyes never came back and all he saw was nothing. He turned to Quinn. "Very well, come then. Let us share a hearty breakfast."

He led Quinn towards the bigger cottage, as they approached, Quinn could hear someone singing. The voice came inside the cottage, and it was so mellow that Quinn had to smile to herself. When they were almost at the door, the singing had stopped and the door itself opened, revealing a smaller girl with brown hair and brown eyes. She wore a simple peasant's dress, very much like her father's choice of clothing. Her dark hair was falling into curling, bouncing tresses down her shoulders.

She was smiling wide at Hiram. Quinn thought the girl was very pretty and very fine, and she felt some invisible force tug at her heart.

"Father!" she beamed. "You're early for today! Was the metal you forged easy to sharpen?"

A large black shape came up behind the girl by the door, and the looming shape came tearing out of the door. A big hunting dog was bounding up its way to Quinn. It was larger than any dog she had seen, and it was barking at her furiously.

"No! Trev!" the girl let out an obnoxious screech, warning the dog to stop. But the dog seemed to be gone wild, for it continued to advance towards Quinn with its snarling fangs. It went yapping and snarling at her.

"Down, boy!" Hiram stood between the bounding dog and the girl. The dog stopped dead, hurling itself onto Hiram's legs and landing just in front of the blacksmith's feet. But, he was still snarling at Quinn.

The brown-haired girl ran to the dog. She stroked its fur and cradled its head in her arms. She then looked apologetically at Quinn. "I am sorry. I really don't know what's gotten into him."

The dog, named Trev was now starting to calm down. As he saw that the most important people he knew were protecting the girl, he had stopped barking at Quinn. But, the dog was still graling at the girl.

Quinn looked up to Hiram and saw that the blacksmith was sniffing the air.

"Where have you been, girl? You smell like a badger's set!" he exclaimed laughingly. He looked at Quinn's clothes. "You stink. Doesn't she, Rachel?" he turned to the smaller girl.

Quinn blushed slightly, for she had found Rachel's brown, round eyes very attractive. She felt herself drawn to them, and she had remembered the voice singing in the cottage. Surely, the girl had owned it.

Rachel was blushing terribly. Even with her tan complexion, Quinn could see her reddening cheeks. Her eyes flitted in embarrassment as she realized that Quinn wasn't a boy. She shyly smiled, for she had found Quinn's hazel eyes very alluring.

"I slept...in the mountains and in the clearings and in the caves," Quinn stuttered as she avoided Rachel's gaze. "As I crossed the mountains."

"Wonders never cease," said Hiram as he smiled. He seemed to be deeply impressed. "You must tell us all about it, but before anything else, there's a hot bath for you. So that we can get rid of the stench off of you, and your scent out of Trev's nose."

Quinn suddenly felt weary, as the idea of a bath came into her mind. She looked up at the blacksmith. "Thank you, Hiram."

Hiram smiled. "If you came from Frank, then you have nothing to thank us for. You are welcome in this house."

They started back up the path towards the house again. Quinn smiled, she was thinking of what Frank had done for Hiram and Rachel...she sighed. She had found friends in Kisav – finally.


	19. Dani

Santana padded noiselessly across the forest. Her paws made muffled footfalls across the forest floor. When she had seen Quinn earlier, being welcomed by the blacksmith and his daughter, she had felt a jealousy that she used to feel when she was a cub. Like the feeling of jealousy that she had felt when Noah came into the pack and befriended her mate. But the hunger came to her and immediately won out over emotions, so she headed out to hunt.

She sniffed the air and caught scent of a kill. She quietly followed the trail, the scent guiding her. She came over a small mountain stream where the bank had sloped dangerously. On the far stretch of the sandy back, just ahead of her were cawing ravens.

The ravens were feeding off a carcass of a young pronghorn antelope. Its eyes were still open, but they were cold and lifeless. Sometimes, when a wolf hunts, the bloody scent would be carried away, and in turn, attracting these hooded black birds. And when an animal dies in the forest, these black birds lead the wolf to the kill using their screeching _caw-caw_ in the air.

She growled hungrily as she saw the black-feathered beards poke at the rotting antelope. Its stiff back was touching a jutting rock, and its eyes were open, but were cold and dead. She snarled at the ravens, who timely took flight. Santana had now the antelope to herself.

Normally, the birds would have swooped down relentlessly, claiming the antelope that was supposed to be theirs. But, there was more for the birds, after all, they already had their fill already.

So Santana sated her hunger with the antelope, tearing at the prize she had stolen shamelessly. Santana did not fear now that the Sight would touch her and show her the anguish for the killed antelope. The animal had been long since dead. She peacefully ate, with measured intent.

After sating her hunger, Santana walked to the river. It was already caked with a thin ice sheet on the top. Using her front paws, Santana broke a part of the river out, and lapped at the chilled water under the ice sheet. Soon, she began to lay down. With a lazy yawn, she went to sleep.

But, if the birds had stayed, they would have seen the way Santana's head and body twitch excitedly. They would have seen the ripples on her muzzle, they would have heard her low growl that came under her belly. It was the growl of a talking wolf, or a young wolf cub trapped and could not find a way to escape.

Before Santana's vision was a man with dark, searching eyes. He was looking deep into Santana's soul and mind. The man began to speak, but when the man opened his mouth, he wasn't talking human talk. He was adressing Santana with the language of the wolves. And his voice sounded somewhat familiar. It sounded so much like her aunt Belladonna.

"Santana. Listen carefully, Santana. We have been looking for you for so long."

Santana felt as if she was a young, vulnerable cub again. She growled lowly, for she had hated everything about her aunt. Even the dreams about her.

"Santana, it's been so long, dear niece. Where were you?" Belladonna's voice echoed.

"Belladonna," Santana growled in horror.

"You thought of me as your own mother before, Santana. Why not listen to me now?" Belladonna said.

"Never again!" Santana growled at her aunt. "Go away from me, Belladonna. You are nothing but a nightmare. You're dead."

"I am, Santana. As is your beloved mate, Brittany. Or was she just a dream, too?" Belladonna asked in an eerie manner, making Santana's blood run cold.

"And you shall be dead, too. Everything has its end, Santana. Nothing can escape it. But the past may return, and I want to help you prepare for the Shadows."

"That's all you know, Belladonna. With all the hate. All you know. Shadows are all you know," Santana snarled.

Lord Weston smiled evilly in Santana's dream. He spoke again with Belladonna's voice.

"You know that it's all that there is, Santana. You know it now," her aunt growled. "Why do you pretend to be what you are not?"

"You're a liar. These are all lies, just like goblins and fairies," Santana cried.

"Of course, they are all true, dear niece," Belladonna said. Lord Weston's face broke into a knowing smile. "Don't be foolish, Santana."

The black wolf whimpered softly.

"And you are a wolf, gifted with the Sight, and your gifts are more powerful that Brittany's. It's time you take your rightful place," Belladonna coaxed.

"You lie," Santana countered. "You've always lied too me!"

"And do you not lie now, Santana? Going with that human girl?" the older she-wolf asked. "Denying your true nature? Isn't it lying?"

The man's eyes were searching her. He was searching for Quinn inside Santana's head. Santana was quick enough to shroud her thoughts of Quinn.

"Do you know of it?" she asked her aunt.

"We know of it," Belladonna said. "So where are you now, Santana? There's blood on your lips, have you killed this changeling already?"

"No, I can't do that. I will never do that," Santana growled.

"Will you never? It is her destiny, Santana. Her destiny to be left dead in the wintry forests, killed by you. Look into the water and see for yourself. Use the Sight to see the future," Belladonna commanded. "I command you with the powers of the Sight."

Try as she might, she was powerless. With open eyes, but still in a trance, Santana walked to the river and lowered her muzzle. In the ice, she could see the images moving, like in the glacier. It was Quinn. She seemed to have grown stronger, and she was carrying a bow. Santana knew this was the future.

And then she was there. She was bounding towards Quinn, the bloodlust was on her. Quinn wasn't able to defend herself as Santana tore Quinn's neck open.

"No!" Santana growled in a terrifying loud roar. She shuddered bitterly. "Leave me, Belladonna! You're a dead liar!"

"But it is the truth, Santana. The Sight does not lie," Belladonna's voice echoed in her mind. "It is your destiny to kill the girl. And you shall do it, later. But you should do it soon, so that it can be over quickly."

"Leave me be, witch!" Santana snarled. "You're a phantom!"

"But aren't we all made from all our phantoms, Santana?" Belladonna's voice was recessing now. Santana was wide awake already. She looked from left to right, and no other animal was in sight, but she couldn't help it. The vision was so real. Belladonna was back from the Red Meadows, in the lands beyond he forests.

Santana started to run, like an animal escaping from hunters, but she had no idea why she's running. She leaped across the sharp rocks, and bounded through the forest. Her mind was in an overdrive, and her lungs seemed to burst at its seams from running.

Her sleek black fur seemed to mix with the darkening surroundings, until all that Santana was just a leaping blur of a shadow amidst the trees. Panting, Santana came into a clearing and she dug her front paws. She had stopped running.

Beyond the trees was a sleek familiar shadow. It was another wolf. For a moment, Santana stopped. Was it real? Was it Belladonna, trying to get her again, pulling her in the shadows? Had she been restored back to life? No, that can't be. Belladonna was dead – a long time ago.

When the other wolf came closer to Santana, she realized it wasn't Belladonna at all. It was another wolf, one that she did not what the wolf looked, it seemed to be another loner. A white one.

Then, another wolf came bounding into view. It was a familiar shape, bounding and leaping out into the air.

"Noah!" Santana bounded in recognition of her adopted brother. She yelped in glee as she circled the male wolf, sniffing his tail in recognition. Noah did so, and they both circled each other. "It's been a long time."

"Santana," Noah said as they dwindled into a panting walk. The other female wolf was now walking beside them. "I want you to meet Dani," he swung his muzzle towards the other she-wolf. It was only then that Santana took a good look at the female wolf.

Dani had a lighter gray shade than Noah, it was almost white, but not as white as Brittany's fur had been. She had a small bluish streak under her eyes and she had light brown eyes. Shyly, Dani smiled at Santana.

"What brought you here, Noah?" Santana asked. The past seemed to be catching up with her. "How was the pack?"

"The cubs are fine," Noah said reassuringly and sighed. "Cubs, it's strange to call them that. Mike, and Jake and Ryder and Marley. They're big now, Santana."

"What about father?" Santana asked. She had been worried most about her parents, for when she left her pack before, her parents were old already.

"They're alright. Mother misses you so much, actually, everyone does," Noah replied.

"Well, why are you here?" Santana asked. Noah's gaze dipped low, and she knew that Noah had something with him. Some news, and from the looks of it, it was something Santana wouldn't look forward to hear. "Something's happened to the pack?"

"That's where I come in," Dani answered for Noah, and Santana's confused eyes swung onto the other she-wolf.


End file.
